The true Parisian may come here, perhaps, once or twice a year,--no more.

For the man of the world--such as you and I, monsieur,--these places do not exist." I glanced at my companion a little curiously.

There was something in his manner distinctly puzzling.

With his lips he was smiling approval at the little _danseuse_ who was pirouetting near our table, but it seemed to me that his mind was busy with other thoughts.

Suddenly he turned his head toward mine.
"Monsieur must remember," he said quietly, "that a place like this is as the froth on our champagne.