A
little maid followed, and they covered the table with dishes, knives and
forks, bread and wine. The woman beamed upon Fanny and Julien, and
laying her hand upon Fanny's shoulder begged them not to eat till she
had fetched them a glass of her own wine.
"You bet it's good, ma'am," advised a big American sergeant at a table
near them. "You take it."
She brought them a wine which shone like dark amber in a couple of
glasses, and stood over them listening with pleasure to their
appreciation while each slight movement of her shoulders sent ripples
and rivers of heaving light over the waistcoat of satin.
The butter round the omelette was bubbling in the dish, the brille had
had its red rind removed and replaced by fried breadcrumbs, the white
wine was light and sweet, and with the coffee afterwards they were given
as much sugar as they wished.
"I have seen her before somewhere," said Julien, as the scarlet head
receded among the shadows of the back room. "I wonder where?"
"One wouldn't forget her."
"No. It might have been in Paris; it might have been anywhere."
The little maid was at his elbow. "Madame would be glad if you would
come to her store and make your choice of a cigar, monsieur."
"Well, I shall know where I met her. Do you mind if I go?"
He followed the girl into the back room.
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