He was a healed man. He had intended to seek for a place at the
Cafe Cardinal, but it was too near the Cafe Riche--he might meet old
acquaintances, might be asked embarrassing questions. So he gladly
accepted his present opportunity.
The dulness of the day waxed with its waning. It was nearly six o'clock
when the door slowly opened and Aholibah entered. She was alone. Her
scarlet plumage was wet, and she was painted like a Peruvian war-god.
She did not appear so brilliant a bird of paradise--or elsewhere--as at
the aviary across the water. Yet her gaze was as forthright as ever. She
sat on a divan between two domino parties, and was hardly noticed by the
fanatics of that bony diversion. Recognizing Ambroise, she made a sign
to him. It was some minutes before he could reach her table; he had
other orders. When he did, she said she wanted some absinthe. He stared
at her. Yes, absinthe--she had discarded iced wines. The doctor told her
that cold wine was dangerous. He still stared. Then she held up the
purse. It was a mere shell; all the stones save the amethyst in the
mouth of the serpent were gone.
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