It was quite
possible that I was the first man to establish such a precedent in
Monsieur Mouquin's restaurant. Thus, I aroused only passive curiosity.
From the corner of my eye I observed the old gentleman opposite. He
was peering over the top of his paper, and I could see by the glitter
in his eye that he was a confirmed player of solitaire. The girl,
however, still appeared to be in a dreaming state. I have no doubt
every one who saw me thought that anarchy was abroad again, or that
Sherlock Holmes had entered into his third incarnation.
Finally I squared the pack, took a long-breath, and cut. I turned up
the card. It was the ten-spot of hearts. I considered this most
propitious; hearts being my long suit in everything but love,--love
having not yet crossed my path. I put the card in my wallet, and was
about to toss the rest of the pack under the table, when, a woman's
voice stayed my hand.
"Don't throw them away. Tell my fortune first."
I looked up, not a little surprised. It was the beautiful young girl
who had spoken. She was leaning on her elbows, her chin propped in her
palms, and the light in her grey _chatoyant_ eyes was wholly innocent
and mischievous. In Monsieur Mouquin's cellar people are rather
Bohemian, not to say friendly; for it is the rendezvous of artists,
literary men and journalists,--a clan that holds formality in contempt.
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