Several days elapsed before I met Nathalie Haldin again. I was crossing
the place in front of the theatre when I made out her shapely figure
in the very act of turning between the gate pillars of the unattractive
public promenade of the Bastions. She walked away from me, but I knew
we should meet as she returned down the main alley--unless, indeed, she
were going home. In that case, I don’t think I should have called on her
yet. My desire to keep her away from these people was as strong as ever,
but I had no illusions as to my power. I was but a Westerner, and it was
clear that Miss Haldin would not, could not listen to my wisdom; and as
to my desire of listening to her voice, it were better, I thought, not
to indulge overmuch in that pleasure. No, I should not have gone to the
Boulevard des Philosophes; but when at about the middle of the principal
alley I saw Miss Haldin coming towards me, I was too curious, and too
honest, perhaps, to run away.
There was something of the spring harshness in the air. The blue sky was
hard, but the young leaves clung like soft mist about the uninteresting
range of trees; and the clear sun put little points of gold into the
grey of Miss Haldin’s frank eyes, turned to me with a friendly greeting.