A Woman Intervenes
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It was a little after two o’clock in the morning when Mannister stepped out of the café, where the air was stifling, into the cool sweetness of the spring twilight. Behind him was the gay music of the little red-coated orchestra, the dulcet cries of the mesdemoiselles whom he had passed on his way down the stairs, the shouting of a coon dancer, the clatter and tinkle of glasses and crockery. It was the night world of Paris who supped! And before him, the cool dark streets, the sense of cleanliness that one feels who escapes from such a miasma into the open air. Mannister stood for a moment bare-headed upon the pavement, and the commissionnaire hastened to his side.
“Voiture pour monsieur?” he commanded with a bow.
Mannister held up his hand.
“Voiture ordina
