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“Dance?”

“Have I forgotten again? We are to have supper that night at Le Parapluie. The big room has been engaged. I tell you, it will be festive. A little below us, perhaps, but we must descend, my dear. It behoves us to descend. Their feelings must not be hurt.”

Madeleine paled.

Once before she had subscribed to festivity under the shelter of Le Parapluie. The revels had haunted her ever since....

She was about to protest—beg to be excused—when she remembered her letter. Mercifully, this seemed to have escaped notice—so far. It occurred to her that pleasant, bright conversation might save it inviolate. Desperately she strove to keep the ball rolling....

Lacaze saw her anxiety, and let her strive.

When the meal was over, he pushed back his chair. For the next five minutes he debated audibly whether he should go forth to buy tobacco, or send the servant. Madeleine wanted him to go—terribly, but dared not put in her oar. She was, of course, quite satisfied that he had forgotten her letter. Her only fear was that he would catch sight of it again.