Madame de Belle-Ile, having just changed from a bright scarlet costume
into a brighter, was taking her afternoon tea before returning to the
tables.
"Bonjour, Monsieur le Vaurien," she said with a bright smile. "Have
you at last succeeded in gambling?"
"No; it would be no pleasure to me to gamble unless your bright eyes
were shining on the table," said Tinker with a happy recollection of a
compliment he had overheard.
"Farceur! Va!" said the lady with a pleased smile.
"I came to ask if you would like to sup with Mr. Courtnay to-night?"
said the unscrupulous Tinker.
"Ah, le bel Artur!" cried the lady. "But with pleasure. Where?"
"Oh, in the restaurant of the hotel," said Tinker.
The lady's face fell a little; she would have preferred to sup in a
less public place, one more suited to protestations of devotion.
"At about eleven?" she said.
"At half past," said Tinker. "And I think he'd like a note from you
accepting--it--it would please him, I'm sure. He--he--could take it
out, and look at it, you know." It was a little clumsy; but, though he
had thought it out carefully, it was the best that he could do.
"You think so? What a lot we know about these things!" said Madame de
Belle-Ile with a pleased laugh; and she went forthwith to the
ecritoire, and in ten minutes composed the tenderest of billets-doux.
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