Suddenly it detached itself from the line of
other carriages and dashed up alongside of the pavement where we
were walking. Its wheels ground in the gutter, and I caught Howard's
arm to draw him more on to the pavement.
"Look out!" I exclaimed. "What a way to drive!" I added, as the
coachman whipped up his horses and drove on some fifty yards, close
to the kerb. There he pulled up abruptly. The door of the brougham
was pushed open and a woman got out. Such a figure it was that
outlined itself in the sunny light, standing on the white trottoir,
and with the vista of the Champs Elysees behind it--a form seductive
in every line, with a fine hip, and a tiny arched foot that tapped
the pavement impatiently.
"What's up?" I said to Howard. "Whom is she waiting for, I wonder?"
A few steps more brought us up to her, and then, to our
astonishment, she turned fully towards me, and said in her own
language,--
"Will you come and dine with me this evening, Monsieur? The carriage
will take us home now!"
We both stopped short. There was a second of blank amaze, and the
woman's face stamped itself on our startled vision;--the eyes,
liquid and gleaming, behind a veil of black lashes; the smooth firm
nose, with its raised and tremulous nostril; the oval of either
cheek, with the damask glow in it; and the curled mouth of deepest
crimson, with the essence of sensuous languor in its curve.
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