Mademoiselle Blanche

André nodded. Monsieur dropped the paper, paid his bill, left a little fee for the garçon, and took himself off. At the entrance he stopped and surveyed the surging crowd in the Boulevard Montmartre. He had just finished an excellent dinner with a glass of chartreuse verte; so he felt particularly complacent. As he prodded his teeth with the easy grace of the Frenchman who knows no shame of the toothpick, he tried to think out a plan for the evening. Nothing better occurred to him than André's suggestion. He was not in the mood for the Casino de Paris, nor for any of the other concert halls, nor even for the theaters. Yes, he would go to the Circus. He hadn't been there for ten days.