Cafe La Source in the Boul' Mich' and
made shiver the groups of young medical students who were reading or
playing dominos. Ambroise Nettier, older, thinner, paler, waited
carefully on his patrons. He had been in the hospital with brain fever,
and after he was cured, one of the students secured him a position at
this cafe in the Quartier. He had been afraid to go back to the Cafe
Riche; Joseph had harshly discharged him on that terrible night; alone,
without a home, without a penny, his savings gone, his life insurance
hypothecated,--it had been intended for the benefit of his parents,--his
clothes, his very trunk gone, and plunged in debt to his fellow-waiters,
his brain had succumbed to the shock. But Ambroise was young and strong;
when he left the hospital he was relieved to find that he no longer saw
scarlet. 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. She laughed shrilly. He went for the
drink. She lighted a cigarette....

Every night for six months she haunted the cafe. She was always
unattended, always in excellent humour. She made few friends among the
students. Her scarlet dress grew shabbier. Her gloves and boots were
pitiful to Ambroise, who recalled her former splendours, her outrageous
extravagances. Why had fortune flouted her! Why had she let it, like
water, escape through her jewelled, indifferent fingers! He made no
inquiries. She vouchsafed none. The