The tender foliage of the chestnuts cast a shadow over the
terrace and flecked the paths and walks with tracery so blue that Clifford
might here have found encouragement for his violent "impressions" had he
but looked; but as usual in this period of his career, his thoughts were
anywhere except in his profession. Around about, the sparrows quarrelled
and chattered their courtship songs, the big rosy pigeons sailed from tree
to tree, the flies whirled in the sunbeams and the flowers exhaled a
thousand perfumes which stirred Clifford with languorous wistfulness. Under this influence he spoke. "Elliott, you are a true friend--"

"You make me ill," replied the latter, folding his paper. "It's just as I
thought,--you are tagging after some new petticoat again. And," he
continued wrathfully, "if this is what you've kept me away from Julian's
for,--if it's to fill me up with the perfections of some little idiot--"

"Not idiot," remonstrated Clifford gently. "See here," cried Elliott, "have you the nerve to try to tell me that you
are in love again?" "Again?" "Yes, again and again and again and--by George have you?" "This," observed Clifford sadly, "is serious." For a moment Elliott would have laid hands on him, then he laughed from
sheer helplessness. "Oh, go on, go on; let's see, there's Clémence and
Marie Tellec and Cosette and Fifine, Colette, Marie Verdier--"

"All of whom are charming, most charming, but I never was serious--"

"So help me, Moses," said Elliott, solemnly, "each and every one of those
named have separately and in turn torn your heart with anguish and have
also made me lose my place at Julian's in this same manner; each and every
one, separately and in turn. Do you deny it?" "What you say may be founded on facts--in a way--but give me the credit of
being faithful to one at a time--"

"Until the next came along." "But this,--this is really very different. Elliott, believe me, I am all
broken up." Then there being nothing else to do, Elliott gnashed his teeth and
listened. "It's--it's Rue Barrée." "Well," observed Elliott, with scorn, "if you are moping and moaning over
_that_ girl,--the girl who has given you and myself every reason to wish
that the ground would open and engulf us,--well, go on!" "I'm going on,--I don't care; timidity has fled--"

"Yes, your native timidity." "I'm desperate, Elliott. Am I in love? Never, never did I feel so d--n
miserable. I can't sleep; honestly, I'm incapable of eating properly." "Same symptoms noticed in the case of Colette." "Listen, will you?" "Hold on a moment, I know the rest by heart. Now let me ask you something. Is it your belief that Rue Barrée is a pure girl?" "Yes," said Clifford, turning red. "Do you love her,--not as you dangle and tiptoe after every pretty
inanity--I mean, do you honestly love her?" "Yes," said the other doggedly, "I would--"

"Hold on a moment; would you marry her?" Clifford turned scarlet. "Yes," he muttered. "Pleasant news for your family," growled Elliott in suppressed fury. "'Dear father, I have just married a charming grisette whom I'm sure
you'll welcome with open arms, in company with her mother, a most
estimable and cleanly washlady.' Good heavens! This seems to have gone a
little further than the rest. Thank your stars, young man, that my head is
level enough for us both. Still, in this case, I have no fear. Rue Barrée
sat on your aspirations in a manner unmistakably final." "Rue Barrée," began Clifford, drawing himself up, but he suddenly ceased,
for there where the dappled sunlight glowed in spots of gold, along the
sun-flecked path, tripped Rue Barrée. Her gown was spotless, and her big
straw hat, tipped a little from the white forehead, threw a shadow across
her eyes. Elliott stood up and bowed. Clifford removed his head-covering with an air
so plaintive, so appealing, so utterly humble that Rue Barrée smiled. The smile was delicious and when Clifford, incapable of sustaining himself
on his legs from sheer astonishment, toppled slightly, she smiled again in
spite of herself. A few moments later she took a chair on the terrace and
drawing a book from her music-roll, turned the pages, found the place, and
then placing it open downwards in her lap, sighed a little, smiled a
little, and looked out over the city. She had entirely forgotten Foxhall
Clifford. After a while she took up her book again, but instead of reading began to
adjust a rose in her corsage. The rose was big and red. It glowed like
fire there over her heart, and like fire it warmed her heart, now
fluttering under the silken petals. Rue Barrée sighed again. She was very
happy. The sky was so blue, the air so soft and perfumed, the sunshine so
caressing, and her heart sang within her, sang to the rose in her breast. This is what it sang: "Out of the throng of passers-by, out of the world
of yesterday, out of the millions passing, one has turned aside to me." So her heart sang under his rose on her breast. Then two big
mouse-coloured pigeons came whistling by and alighted on the terrace,
where they bowed and strutted and bobbed and turned until Rue Barrée
laughed in delight, and looking up beheld Clifford before her. His hat was
in his hand and his face was wreathed in a series of appealing smiles
which would have touched the heart of a Bengal tiger. For an instant Rue Barrée frowned, then she looked curiously at Clifford,
then when she saw the resemblance between his bows and the bobbing
pigeons, in spite of herself, her lips parted in the most bewitching
laugh. Was this Rue Barrée? So changed, so changed that she did not know
herself; but oh! that song in her heart which drowned all else, which
trembled on her lips, struggling for utterance, which rippled forth in a
laugh at nothing,--at a strutting pigeon,--and Mr. Clifford. "And you think, because I return the salute of the students in the
Quarter, that you may be received in particular as a friend? I do not know
you, Monsieur, but vanity is man's other name;--be content, Monsieur
Vanity, I shall be punctilious--oh, most punctilious in returning your
salute." "But I beg--I implore you to let me render you that homage which has so
long--"

"Oh dear; I don't care for homage." "Let me only be permitted to speak to you now and then,--occasionally--very
occasionally." "And if _you_, why not another?" "Not at all,--I will be discretion itself." "Discretion--why?" Her eyes were very clear, and Clifford winced for a moment, but only for a
moment. Then the devil of recklessness seizing him, he sat down and
offered himself, soul and body, goods and chattels. And all the time he
knew he was a fool and that infatuation is not love, and that each word he
uttered bound him in honour from which there was no escape. And all the
time Elliott was scowling down on the fountain plaza and savagely checking
both bulldogs from their desire to rush to Clifford's rescue,--for even
they felt there was something wrong, as Elliott stormed within himself and
growled maledictions.