The Lost Ambassador | Page 6

it was for your
sake. You are a gentleman of great position. Afterwards you might feel
sorry to think that you had been in such a place, or in such company."
I patted him on the shoulder reassuringly.
"My dear Louis," said I, "you need have no such fears about me. I am a
little of an adventurer, a little of a Bohemian. There is no one else who
has a claim upon my life, and I do as I please. Can't you tell me a little
more about this mysterious cafe?"
"There is so little to tell," Louis said. "Of one thing I can assure
you,--you will be disappointed. There is no music, no dancing. The
interest is only in the people who go there, and their lives. It may be,"
he continued thoughtfully, "that you will not find them much different
from all the others."
"But there is a difference, Louis?" I asked.
"Wait," he answered. "You shall see."
The cab pulled up in front of a very ordinary-looking cafe in a side
street leading from one of the boulevards. Louis dismissed the man and
looked for a moment or two up and down the pavement. His caution
appeared to be quite needless, for the thoroughfare was none too well
lit, and it was almost empty. Then he entered the cafe, motioning me to
follow him.
"Don't look around too much," he whispered. "There are many people
here who do not care to be spied upon."
My first glance into the place was disappointing. I was beginning to
lose faith in Louis. After all, it seemed to me that the end of our
adventure would be ordinary enough, that I should find myself in one

of those places which the touting guides of the Boulevard speak of in
bated breath, which one needs to be very young indeed to find
interesting even for a moment. The ground floor of the cafe through
which we passed was like a thousand others in different parts of Paris.
The floor was sanded, the people were of the lower
orders,--rough-looking men drinking beer or sipping cordials; women
from whom one instinctively looked away, and whose shrill laughter
was devoid of a single note of music. It was all very flat, very
uninteresting. But Louis led the way through a swing door to a staircase,
and then, pushing his way through some curtains, along a short passage
to another door, against which he softly knocked with his knuckles. It
was opened at once, and a commissionnaire stood gazing stolidly out at
us, a commissionnaire in the usual sort of uniform, but one of the most
powerful-looking men whom I had ever seen in my life.
"There are no tables, monsieur, in the restaurant," he said at once.
"There is no place at all."
Louis looked at him steadily for a moment. It seemed to me that,
although I was unable to discern anything of the sort, some sign must
have passed between them. At any rate, without any protest or speech
of any sort from Louis the commissionnaire saluted and stood back.
"But your friend, monsieur?" he asked.
"It will be arranged," Louis answered, in a low tone. "We shall speak to
Monsieur Carvin."
We were in a dark sort of entresol, and at that moment a further door
was opened, and one caught the gleam of lights and the babel of voices.
A man came out of the room and walked rapidly toward us. He was of
middle height, and dressed in ordinary morning clothes, wearing a
black tie with a diamond pin. His lips were thick. He had a slight tawny
moustache, and a cast in one eye. He held out both his hands to Louis.
"Dear Louis," he exclaimed, "it is good to see you!"
Louis drew him to one side, and they talked for a few moments in a

rapid undertone. More than once the manager of the restaurant, for such
I imagined him to be, glanced towards me, and I was fairly certain that
I formed the subject of their conversation. When it was finished Louis
beckoned, and we all three turned towards the door together, Louis in
the centre.
"This," he said to me, "is Monsieur Carvin, the manager of the Cafe des
Deux Epingles. He has been explaining to me how difficult it is to find
even a corner in his restaurant, but there will be a small table for us."
Monsieur Carvin bowed.
"For any friend of Louis," he said, "one would do much. But indeed,
monsieur, people seem to find my little restaurant interesting, and it is,
alas, so very small."
We entered the room almost as he spoke. It was larger than I had
expected to find it, and the style of its decorations and