When he had finished their
supper had arrived.
"I think," she said, as she helped herself to _hors d'oeuvre_, "that
you were very fortunate to get away."
He laughed carelessly.
"The joke of it is," he said, "I've been followed all the way here. One
fellow, who pretended he got in at Strasburg, was trying to talk to me
all the time, but I saw him sneak in at Vienna, and I wasn't having any.
I say, do you come here every evening?"
"Very often," she answered. "I dance at the Comique, and then we
generally go to Maxim's to supper, and up here afterwards. I'll
introduce you to my friends afterwards, if you like, and we'll all sit
together. If you're very good I'll dance to you!"
"Delighted," he answered, "if they speak English. I'm sick of trying to
make people understand my rotten French."
She nodded.
"They speak English all right. I wish that horrid Viennese girl wouldn't
try to listen to every word we say."
He smiled.
"She wanted me to sit at her table," he remarked.
Mademoiselle Flossie looked at him warningly, and dropped her voice.
"Better be careful!" she whispered. "They say she's a spy!"
"On my track very likely," he declared with a grin.
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