"And she has disappointed Monsieur?" There was no marked sympathy in the
tone.
"Since Eve, has that not been woman's part in the human comedy?" He was
almost certain that her lips became firmer. "Smile, if you wish. It is not
prohibitory here."
It was evident that the smile had been struggling for existence, for it
endured to the fulness of half a minute. She had fine teeth. He
scrutinized her more closely, and she bore it well. The forehead did not
make for beauty; it was too broad and high, intellectual. Her eyes were
splendid. There was nothing at all ordinary about her. His sense of
puzzlement renewed itself and deepened. What did she want of him? There
were other men, other vacant chairs.
"Monsieur is certain about the taxicab?"
"Absolutely."
"Ah, it is to emulate Saint Anthony!"
"There are several saints of that name. To which do you refer?"
"Positively not to him of Padua."
Courtlandt laughed. "No, I can not fancy myself being particularly
concerned about bambini. No, my model is Noah."
"Noah?" dubiously.
"Yes. At the time of the flood there was only one woman in the world."
"I am afraid that your knowledge of that event is somewhat obscured.
Still, I understand."
She lifted the wine-glass again, and then he noticed her hand. It was
large, white and strong; it was not the hand of a woman who dallied, who
idled in primrose paths.
"Tell me, what is it you wish? You interest me, at a moment, too, when I
do not want to be interested. Are you really in trouble? Is there anything
I can do ... barring the taxicab?"
She twirled the glass, uneasily. "I am not in actual need of assistance."
"But you spoke peculiarly regarding loneliness."
"Perhaps I like the melodrama. You spoke of the Ambigu-Comique."
"You are on the stage?"
"Perhaps."
"The Opera?"
"Again perhaps."
He laughed once more, and drew his chair closer to the table.
"Monsieur in other moods must have a pleasant laughter."
"I haven't laughed from the heart in a very long time," he said, returning
to his former gravity, this time unassumed.
"And I have accomplished this amazing thing?"
"No. You followed me here. But from where?"
"Followed you?" The effort to give a mocking accent to her voice was a
failure.
"Yes. The idea just occurred to me. There were other vacant chairs, and
there was nothing inviting in my facial expression. Come, let me have the
truth."
"I have a friend who knows Flora Desimone."
"Ah!" As if this information was a direct visitation of kindness from the
gods. "Then you know where the Calabrian lives? Give me her address."
There was a minute wrinkle above the unknown's nose; the shadow of a
frown. "She is very beautiful."