It was only eleven now. He would go to the Cafe Colomb, and
spend the hour there. It was no use to search for her further, and as
he assured himself there was not the least reason to become alarmed.
She was not likely to lose her head, and she knew her way about the
place.
The Colomb was more or less a recognised resort of the many
revolutionaries with whom the city abounded. The proprietor was known
to be in sympathy with their schemes, though he took no active part in
them himself. He was considered trustworthy, for notes and messages
were often left in his charge, and his private room was at the disposal
of those who wished for a few minutes' secret interview. When Emile
entered he was greeted by several of the men who sat in groups of two
and three at little tables, busy with Monte and other card games.
The smoke of many cigarettes obscured their figures, and clouded the
mirrors with which the place was lined from floor to ceiling. Emile
sat down alone and ordered an _absinthe_.
When called upon to join in the play, he refused with a scowl and a
rasping oath in his native tongue, and as the evening grew on towards
midnight he was left to himself and his meditations.
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