. I have all I wish of my own
and can please myself as to whom I choose for my friends. So don't be
concerned. Just one more kiss and I go to make ready for the ball. Ah!
the hall door bell! Your friend returns. I will be with you bien vite.
Silence, n'est-ce pas?" And she went to her room.

Next minute my friend was with me. He was so full of the charms of
Estelle that I had not--even if I wished--an opportunity of saying
anything. Another cigarette, a couple of glasses of champagne, the
presence of Louise looking sweeter than ever, all in pink silks and
satins, and we were off in the carriage to leave her at the private house
where her friends, she said, would be wondering what had become of her.

We two returned home in the early hours of the morning and retired to
bed. Bed was one thing. Sleep was another. The day and evening had been
crowded with unexpected events, wonderful happenings and newly inspired
emotions. First and foremost, one event was certain. My engagement was
doomed. Why, in all creation, had I selected Louise from all those six
hundred other women who had attended the ball at the Grand Hotel? Louise,
who was Gustave's friend, and Gustave, my prospective uncle-in-law? There
was only one answer--"Nemesis."

Then I remembered my cousin's warning at supper, "Cuidado!" Well,
warnings are of no value if they are not heeded. One thing was clear. The
engagement would be off. I must admit that the fault was all mine; I
would not, nay, could not, offer any excuse. I had not played the game. I
had failed to rise to the occasion and prove myself the correct youth
that my sponsors had vouched for. So, no doubt the prospective
father-in-law would soon call a family council and Gustave's relations
would be discussed--and then, an end to the affair.

Curiously enough, this did not trouble me much. I felt that the worst
harm I had done was to hurt the pride of my would-be benefactors. This
might be pardonable, but, as regarded my _fiancee_, what should I do?
There seemed to me only one way to act that was honourable. I would ask
that I might be given the privilege of seeing her for the last time and
ask her forgiveness. If this was refused, then I would find my own way to
see her. My thoughts ran on. All the pleasures of the evening recalled
themselves. A new sensation coursed through my brain. Yes; it must be so.
I must be in love. Love at first sight--and in love with Louise. Was she
to suffer--and I the cause