"Good-evening, my dear Gaston," said Marguerite to my companion. "I am
very glad to see you. Why didn't you come to see me in my box at the
Varietes?"

"I was afraid it would be indiscreet."

"Friends," and Marguerite lingered over the word, as if to intimate to
those who were present that in spite of the familiar way in which she
greeted him, Gaston was not and never had been anything more than a
friend, "friends are always welcome."

"Then, will you permit me to introduce M. Armand Duval?"

"I had already authorized Prudence to do so."

"As far as that goes, madame," I said, bowing, and succeeding in getting
more or less intelligible sounds out of my throat, "I have already had
the honour of being introduced to you."

Marguerite's beautiful eyes seemed to be looking back in memory, but she
could not, or seemed not to, remember.

"Madame," I continued, "I am grateful to you for having forgotten the
occasion of my first introduction, for I was very absurd and must have
seemed to you very tiresome. It was at the Opera Comique, two years ago;
I was with Ernest de ----."

"Ah, I remember," said Marguerite, with a smile. "It was not you who
were absurd; it was I who was mischievous, as I still am, but somewhat
less. You have forgiven me?"