Besides, it might be possible that he
would not be glad to see me. I always avoid the chance acquaintance,
unless, of course, the said chance acquaintance is met under favorable
circumstances--like the girl in Mouquin's, for instance! After all, it
was only an incident; and, but for his picking up that card, I never
should have remembered him.
Behind him sat a fellow with a countenance as red and round and
complacent as an English butler's,--red hair and small twinkling eyes.
Once he leaned over and spoke to my chance acquaintance, who, without
turning his head, thrust a match over his shoulder. The man with the
face of a butler lighted the most villainous pipe I ever beheld. I
wondered if they knew each other. But, closely as I watched, I saw no
sign from either. I turned my collar up and snuggled down. There was
no need of his seeing _me_.
Then my thoughts reverted to the ten of hearts again. My ten of
hearts! The wrinkle of a chill ran up and down my spine! My ten of
hearts!
Hastily I took out the card and examined the _back_ of it. It was an
uncommonly handsome back, representing Diana, the moon, and the
midnight sky. A horrible supposition came to me: supposing they looked
at the back as well as at the face of the card? And again, supposing I
was miles away from the requisite color and design? I was staggered.
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