If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. But not so much a pig as that man.
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