Besides, won't we be formally introduced
to-night by the landlady? Come now--to the coffee-house and the
Paris edition of the 'Herald'!" But the next moment he paused and
ran his hand over his chin. "I'm pretty disreputable," he
explained. "I have been in a clinic all day, and, hang it all,
I'm not shaved."
"What difference does that make?"
"My dear young lady," he explained gravely, picking up the cheese
and the tinned fish, "it makes a difference in me that I wish you
to realize before you see me in a strong light."
He rapped at the Portier's door, with the intention of leaving
his parcels there, but receiving no reply tucked them under his
arm. A moment later Harmony was in the open air, rather dazed, a
bit excited, and lovely with the color the adventure brought into
her face. Her companion walked beside her, tall, slightly
stooped. She essayed a fugitive little sideglance up at him, and
meeting his eyes hastily averted hers.
They passed a policeman, and suddenly there flashed into the
girl's mind little Scatchett's letter.
"Do be careful, Harry. If any one you do not know speaks to you,
call a policeman."
CHAPTER III
The coffee-house was warm and bright. Round its small tables were
gathered miscellaneous groups, here and there a woman, but mostly
men--uniformed officers, who made of the neighborhood
coffee-house a sort of club, where under their breath they
criticized the Government and retailed small regimental gossip;
professors from the university, still wearing under the beards of
middle life the fine horizontal scars of student days; elderly
doctors from the general hospital across the street; even a
Hofrath or two, drinking beer and reading the "Fliegende
Blaetter" and "Simplicissimus"; and in an alcove round a billiard
table a group of noisy Korps students.
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