This, however, did not trouble him, with so much that was vivacious in human nature to observe.

Mr. Bloor instructed him in the mysteries of the pari mutuel and himself did a little betting and was lucky. Rudd could not afford to gamble, but learned enough to be able to visit the paying guichet and collect Mr. Bloor's winnings for him.

The racing being over, and the prodigious task of finding their car accomplished, they returned to the Bristol, where Mr. Bloor retired to his couch until dinner, and Rudd was free to roam in the boulevards and assimilate the city; but, his head also aching, he quickly returned and lay in a hot bath like a prince.

CHAPTER XXXIII

ADDITIONAL EVIDENCE THAT IT'S OUR MONEY THEY WANT

THE

HE cab took Mr. Bloor and Rudd up the steep sides of Montmartre at a gallop, with a cracking of the whip and clatter of the hoofs that made talking impossible.

Alighting, they entered the gayest room that Rudd had ever been in. A bright warm glow illuminated it; the buzz of conversation and laughter mingling with a merry tune filled the air; and in a space surrounded by the many tables with their white cloths, red lamp shades, and jovial guests, half a dozen dazzling girls with gleaming shoulders were dancing. It might be a factory of bitter morrows, this hall of pleasure, but no thought of any of them was present now. All was effervescence and vivacity.

Mr. Bloor seemed to be as well known here as elsewhere. A brisk little maître d'hôtel greeted him and led him to a reserved table, where he was greeted as a patron by the waiter. Mr. Bloor ordered Marenne oysters and champagne, and settled himself

to observe the gathering and instruct Rudd in its peculiarities.

"Which of the girls shall we ask to have some supper?" Mr. Bloor asked Rudd. "Any one you like."

Rudd scrutinized them with a new interest.

"What about that one?" he said.

But Mr. Bloor had an objection to her.

"Then that one?"

Mr. Bloor did not approve of her; nor was he cordial about two more suggestions.

"I think you had better choose," said Rudd. "You know more about them than I do."

This being what Mr. Bloor had intended, he straightway beckoned to a tall, slender, piquante girl in red, with very low shoulders, who at once, as if expecting the invitation, came over, shook hands and sat down, with a little sigh of happy ease, wafting all about her a heavy sweet scent.

Mr. Bloor gave an order to the waiter, and then, pouring out wine for his new guest, drank her health, all three of them touching glasses, and the girl, whose name was Germaine, giving Rudd a curious quizzical smile.

Mr. Bloor settled down to talk to her in his grave measured French, and Rudd meanwhile was left to look about him.

The little orchestra of some seven players in red coats never stopped for a moment. One tune merged into another without a hitch, and each brought new

dancers into the centre. Some were girls belonging to the house; some were visiting girls in their hats; the few men were mostly professional. The girls for the most part danced together and kept their eyes on their reflections in the many mirrors.

At intervals a man sang. Rudd's French, which was of the precise Ollendorffian order, left him instantly the song began and never caught up again; but there was very little doubt that the subject-matter was one or more of the phases through which the great emotion can pass, comic or serious. Germaine laughed at the jokes with as much freshness as though they were new, seeking confederacy in both her companions' faces, but rather more in Rudd's than in Mr. Bloor's.

Rudd thought her radiantly pretty, but regretted her cosmetics. She had put them on not to hide age, for she was only twenty-two at most, but, with the intriguing perversity of her class, to suggest a voluptuous fatigue. This, at very close quarters, they did not achieve, for it was obvious that she was full of life and spirits. All her curves were young, and her natural instincts were for quick movement and gaiety.

Rudd was suddenly conscious that she was pressing his foot under the table, and, in the very midst of a sentence to Mr. Bloor, her eyes and lips flashed a message to him of peculiar friendliness. Flattering though this might be, it put him in a false position with their host, and he was glad when Germaine

asked to be excused while she danced the next dance.

"A pretty child," said Mr. Bloor, and Rudd agreed. "I've been urging her to give this up and behave sensibly and get married," said Mr. Bloor. "She'll be old in no time at this rate. I hope she'll think about it. I might be able to help her."

To help people was, as Rudd had already discovered, Mr. Bloor's foible. He left behind him wherever he went a long trail of disaster, all proceeding from this purest and most disinterested motive.

Before her return Germaine had sipped a little champagne at two or three other tables where she had admirers; but she now settled down, not forgetting to face the mirror and extract comfort from it, to a very deep conversation with Mr. Bloor, of which Rudd heard but little, but which certainly bore upon some form of innocent future designed for her by her new friend.

“Well," said Mr. Bloor at last, "it is half-past two. We must be going." And Rudd, being in a dependent position, had to agree. But he would cheerfully have sat on till breakfast-time.

Their rising was the signal for a cataclysm of attention and courtesy. Waiters rushed to move the table, hats and coats were brought and handed and held, and the maître d'hôtel bent double. Mr. Bloor replied with suitable largesse and smiles.

Germaine came to the door with them and laid a caressing hand first on Mr. Bloor and then on Rudd.