He watched her until she reached the northern terrace, and then sat down on the marble seat until a hand on his shoulder and a glimmer of bayonets warned him away.
She passed on through the grove, and turning into the rue de Medici, traversed it to the Boulevard. At the corner she bought a bunch of violets and walked on along the Boulevard to the rue des Écoles. A cab was drawn up before Boulant’s and a pretty girl aided by Elliott jumped out.
“Valentine!” cried the girl, “come with us!”
“I can’t,” she said, stopping a moment—“I have a rendezvous at Mignon’s.”
“Not Victor?” cried the girl laughing, but she passed with a little shiver, nodding good-night, then turning into the Boulevard St. Germain, she walked a little faster to escape a gay party sitting before the Café Cluny who called to her to join them. At the door of the Restaurant Mignon stood a coal-black negro in buttons. He took off his peaked cap as she mounted the carpeted stairs.
“Send Eugene to me,” she said at the office, and passing through the hallway to the right of the dining-room stopped before a row of panelled doors. A waiter passed and she repeated her demand for Eugene, who presently appeared, noiselessly skipping, and bowed murmuring, “Madame.”
“Who is here?”
“No one in the cabinets, madame; in the hall Madame Madelon and Monsieur Gay, Monsieur de Clamart, Monsieur. Clisson, Madame Marie and their set.” Then he looked around and bowing again murmured, “Monsieur awaits madame since half an hour,” and
