Chapter 4
Monsieur Fran ois piloted the little party himself to the corner table which he had reserved for them. He had taken a fancy to this tall young Englishman, whose French, save for a trifle of accent, was as perfect as his own, who spent money with both hands, who was gay as the gayest, and yet who had the air of being little more than a looker-on at the merriment which he did so much to promote. “We are full to-night, monsieur,” he said. “There will be a great crowd. Yet you see your table waits. Mademoiselle Bolero herself begged for it, but I said always-‘No! no! no! It is for monsieur and his friends.’” “You are a prince,” Macheson exclaimed as they filed into their places. “To-night we are going to prove to ourselves that we are indeed in Paris! Sommelier, the same wine-in magnums to-n
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