She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. The chance had gone. ‘Prudence? This name I have heard it spoken. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. I tried to get across the terrace and onto the bridge to introduce myself, but the crowds did not part and I lost you. Had romance to be banished from life?.
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