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Post by Armand Faure on Jul 2, 2008 11:38:54 GMT -5
Armand walked along the musty, dripping passageways beneath the Populaire. Rats scurried along in front of him as if he were a burning fire. He felt like one. Lucien, the damned boy! He did his father's name no justice. Louis had been calm and thoughtful. Lucien was that, too; what went behind those innocent eyes, however, was a mystery in everything but that it was mischief. The boy rebelled constantly against his uncle in silent and unnerving ways. Things were hidden. Important things were found distorted and bent in the wash bin. Neighbours called to report that a terrible rapping sound had terrorised them the night through! It was after one such instance that Armand now found himself. Lucien could care well enough for himself in the house. The doors and windows were all locked, so goodness knows how the boy managed to sneak out. Armand would have to find out. He was a detective, after all!
He was dressed sloppily, as usual, boots scuffed and collar loose. His coat was a dark blue that hid the manner of small stains all about it. He was not a slob in anything but his dress, really. In his home he kept everything neat and organised, quite clean, really. Until Lucien would rearrange everything, that is. He huffed in annoyance as he walked.
Thoughts of revenge walked steadily beside him in the dark passages. Had the Phantom passed away in the fire? It was assumed. He did not believe it. The man had to have known this place up and down, especially seeing as what had been discovered in the vaults of the house. He knew the sketches by heart, had been among the mob that had flown down into the bowels of the earth after the demon and seen first hand the craftsmanship of the mad genius for the first time. It had been amazing and disturbing all at once. He had studied the creations and former home of the man called Phantom until they were etched in his mind. He had made inferences about his personality from them, and from the instances that had occurred during the Phantom's reign before the disaster. He was confident that he could snag him. And he would! He would.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Jul 2, 2008 17:40:29 GMT -5
Today outing was a very successful one! It had been to long since the unsuspecting citizens had the pocket picked by Stanza. She used to go out every day to make sure she wouldn’t lose her touch and to keep others off her turf. Lately though she’s had bigger fish to deal with than some mangy rival thieves. Going back to the streets is her plan B however she don’t plan on ever doing anything but her plan A, and that is becoming the next Opera Ghost, or Phantom, or whatever the other one was called. Someone was trying to take that away from her.
Since the masquerade Stanza has been fuming and plotting. She was bound determined to find out who this person was. All she knew though was that it was a man, he knew the Opera House better than she did, and he knew some parlor tricks. But it definitely wasn’t the old Phantom. He had died in the fire or was run out by the mob. Plus where is all the evidence of his reappearance? The notes, distort managers, fretting ballet girls, and there wasn’t the organ music echoing in the underground passageways.
No, it was silent besides the scurry of rats and random drips of water. Letting out a disappointed sigh Stanza stuffed her stash into her small trunk of things that stood beside a poor excuse for a bed. Her little room was an old storage space that was probably forgotten about years ago. Locking the trunk up she slipping out of her hovel and into the dark damp passageways and she almost knew enough not to need any sort of light.
Lifting the hem of her plain blue skirt up, so that it didn’t get wet and smudged with dirt, she hurried to get above to see if her rival had done anything while she was gone. If something did she wasn’t sure what next she’d be able to vent her anger on. On pondering what or who her next victim will be she turned a corner and smacked right into someone. Staggering back a bit, but not falling, she covered her smarting nose, “Damn…” she cursed angrily. There wasn’t a wall there before! Looking through her blurred vision she saw a human figure rather than a wall. What was someone doing down here? Probably some curious performer coming to explore or on a dare. “Ouch!”
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Post by Armand Faure on Jul 2, 2008 18:39:24 GMT -5
Armand was fuming, the inside of his left cheek already bleeding from his chewing on it absent-mindedly. Between thoughts of Lucien, with whom he had no idea what to do, and of the Phantom, he was working himself up into a veritable fit. Being completely alone, he was able to gesticulate a little to himself without fear of looking like a madman. Even if that was what he was--which no one is saying he is. A few moments more of this raving and he would come terribly close.
In the next moment all reverie was broken. A warm body went crashing into him, and soft hair tickled his nose for a moment before whatever it was stumbled back and cursed. Click. In that one moment he was back another foot and his pistol was cocked, pointed into the darkness toward the voice and the outline of a form in the terrible light. His one-candle lamp was flickering on the floor beside them. Ouch? What the hell? A woman? Armand was not sure if he should lower his gun or not. He had been required to point guns at women before, but none of them had sounded quite so feminine as this one, and these circumstances weren't completely incriminating. For the most part, however, they were pretty damned incriminating. Enough to keep pointing, he decided.
"State your name and purpose." He said coldly, as if disinterested.
Truth be told, he was extremely interested. Why would a woman be down here? It was no proper place! Was she a criminal in hideaway? It must be! Did she have any connection with the Phantom of the Opera? If so, he had surely stumbled upon a treasure. Rather, she had stumbled into him.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Jul 2, 2008 20:44:34 GMT -5
Stanza nearly bolted when she heard the metallic clicking of a gun at ready to fire. She knew the sound well from her earlier years when she wasn’t as skilled as she was now as a thief. Well now she could rule out that the person was a performer and probably not one of the managers or patrons. None of those people probably ever picked up a gun before. That only left three people she could think of who would be down here with a gun.
There was the possibility that it was a stagehand, one of the men she stole from, or her rival for the Phantom position. She doubted the first to be able to pull out a gun that quickly, if the second it took them long enough to get to her she’d be able to easily escape, if the third she was ready to really start the challenge. However all her speculation and little bit of hope crashed down when she heard the also very familiar phrase of a police officer. Now her legs really stung with the urge to run from a rogue’s worst enemy. She had done nothing wrong though, least not that he knew of.
This would be a first for her not to run for her life from an officer of law, even though he was still pointing a gun at her. Besides he sounded young, in his twenties, she could probably take him in a fist fight. Wiping the water from her eyes and making sure she hadn’t broken her nose on his hard chest, she straightened up into a defensive pose. “I don’t really feel obliged giving my name to a man pointing a gun at me Monsieur.” Holding back more resentment then what was needed was hard. “But if it makes you less frightened of being in a strange passageway with a stranger it’s Constanza Deville.” She tried to emphasize probably if it was any other woman he would have frightened them to death, least that’s how she hoped it would come across. Really she was insulting him.
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Post by Armand Faure on Jul 2, 2008 23:11:37 GMT -5
Armand blinked a few times into the darkness, astonished. Had the girl just dared to insult him? He was not used to that. Everyone had something to hide, and thus everyone had good reason to be on friendly terms with an officer of the law. She did not exactly know that he was on, but for goodness sakes, he had pistol That would be persuasion enough to get off on a good foot, he thought. Perhaps not. Maybe she was a suicide. It might explain her being in this part of the Opera House. There was a certain romance to being murdered--that is, unless you've seen what victims look like in the aftermath. It isn't exactly peaceful expressions and beautiful repose.
"Mademoiselle." He said through clenched teeth, buying himself time. Several seconds passed in indecision before he lowered his gun, replacing it at his hip. He sighed. Constanza Deville. What a very dramatic name! Even so, he'd never heard of her. That said something, too, because he made a point of listening. "It is dangerous down here, Mademoiselle Deville," He said, trying to ignore the smarting of his pride from not answering in kind to her insult. "You wouldn't want to be murdered." There. It had just slipped out. Yet surely a woman who could annoy a law abiding gentleman into thoughts of causing the death of a lady had even greater danger from a murderous madman. It would make the process so much quicker!
"What are you doing here, really?" He said, his tone almost sarcastic. He was curious. Something told him that she would not tell him, and though technically he could demand it on the basis of suspicious, he really didn't like whipping that one out in any other case than absolute necessity. Misleading anyone felt too much like a lie, and he was painfully honest as a rule.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Jul 3, 2008 1:35:26 GMT -5
If only she could have seen his expression! Stanza had to bite her tongue just not to laugh out loud. For someone in her occupation to speak to a man of the law like that was unheard of unless they wanted to be put in prison or punished. The corners of her mouth kept twitching but just case she kept the smile from emerging. Really all she had to think about was the pistol. Though it probably was smart to try not to upset a man with pistol she knew that an officer won’t shoot just because of an insult, well a good one wouldn’t. He seemed able to take it though.
With what little light they had she could see that he’d put the gun away. Poor move on him. She wasn’t going to do anything but it still wasn’t a good idea to but your weapon completely away when in a dark passageway with a complete stranger. He had to be fairly new. Oh how much she wished to say something to provoke him! Maybe someday when she was in the mood for a goose chase but unfortunately not today.
“Murdered Monsieur! By what? Rats? The only thing that’s come close to threatening my life was you Monsieur.” Stanza said trying very hard to give her sweetest yet mocking voice. Of coarse if he wasn’t an officer of the law she would have been more friendly, but putting on her full Constanza act just didn’t suit her at the moment. “Lost. I was trying to find shortcuts through the Opera House and got lost.” Well she was the lost the first time she came down here before she had made her little living space.
Slowly bending down, in case he might bring out his pistol at any sudden movement, she picked up the flickering lantern that was just about. Her poor arrangement of her chocolate curls that had loosened from the impact tumbled over her shoulder and down to her waist as she came back up and held it as high as her elbow. It sent a soft glow on her tanned face to show that she wasn’t some person that lurked around in shadows. “Is it not proper for a man to introduce himself to a woman after she has introduced herself?” Her bright bluish green eyes stared at his still mostly showed face before tilting her head expectantly.
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Post by Armand Faure on Jul 3, 2008 22:40:53 GMT -5
Lost? Hm. Where exactly was she trying to go? He did not believe her story. She seemed confident enough and not at all guilty, but he knew that it meant nothing really; she was either innocent or a very skilled criminal. He had reason to know about the latter, as it was a skill that he had once mastered. Self-righteousness and even showing oneself as indignant could throw a suspicious person off a track more effectively than feigned ignorance. He smiled slightly in the darkness, prepared to be friendly. Why not? She was obviously making such an effort to be friendly, herself.
A veiled insult nearly emerged from his mouth in kind before she bent, which made him tense cautiously. She lifted up the lantern between them, and her face was lit. The breath on which the insults would have flown dribbled forgotten back into his mouth and he forgot to take another one. It wasn't that she was breathtakingly beautiful that shocked him the most, though it certainly contributed. The woman had more sex appeal than he thought that women rightfully should possess, what with the wild curls and the smooth skin, feminine features... err... well, enough of that. He was most shocked because she was familiar.
"Inspecteur Faure, mademoiselle. Is Deville your married name, by any chance?" He was digging through his mind now, fishing for clues as to wear he had seen her before. There were no questions within his mind whether or not he had or had not seen her before, for the feeling was unmistakable. He had. Who was she?
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Post by Constanza Deville on Jul 11, 2008 16:57:14 GMT -5
An inspector! Well that quit different from a police officer! For one, inspectors were a lot smarter that those brutes that roam the cities streets waiting to bring punishment to those they presume to deserve it. Some of her comrades had, but Stanza never before dealt with an inspector before. A little more caution and cleverness will need to be used with him. This made the mischievousness that constantly played in her eyes glimmer. Now she was in the mood to see how well she had the character Constanza down. She hadn’t had much practice as of lately as her since she was to busy being enraged.
However much she still wanted to badger Inspector Faure, she turned her condescending smirk into a more playful one like she just heard a joke. Which to her it was. Her married? The thought of it was so farfetched that it hadn’t even crossed her mind once when she was coming up with Constanza. She had always been considered as one of the boys, she never even had to deal with suitors. “Married name?”, there was a hint of laughter in her voice making her words have a sort of melodious ring to it; a trick that she naturally had. “No, Inspector Faure it is not. I’ve been know by that name since my birth.”
Actually hardly anyone knew that her real last name was Cheever. She had just been known as Anais or some nickname that had nothing to do with her name. She liked it that way. Kept what little records she had, if there was any, minuscule on information. That also made it easier for her to be Stanza; she could keep her real age, not wear some wig, or come up with a history, because no one knew hers.
Taking a very small delicate step forward she held the lantern out to him. Her face shadowed a bit whiles his lit up some. Stanza showed her face and now she wanted to see what his looked like. See how old this inspector was and see what his reactions were. “May I also ask why you yourself are down here? Did the managers request you take a look around?”
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Post by Armand Faure on Jul 15, 2008 2:48:07 GMT -5
Armand stiffened as she shifted forward, his hand near his pistol flexing a bit in anticipation. The light came with her and into his face, which he did not appreciate at all. His face was illuminated in all its youthful, tousled glory, a bit humorous in that he suddenly squinted, which made him look to be glaring hatefully. He moved away from the light with a step back and then to the side.
As he did all of this, went about being annoyed and harried by this haphazard meeting with this woman and the fact that he was very attracted to her, he was also taking mental notes. It was such a force of habit to him that he often woke from a dream with mental notes incase his nighttime imaginings had actually been hardened criminals. He noted the way that she seemed to find the idea of being married laughable. So was she a tramp, a lesbian, or one of those new-fangled 'independents' who wore her rags with pride because a man had not given them to her? Or maybe she had a nasty little deformity somewhere in the dark that had shoved her off the marriage market. Hell! It was a good thing to note, but didn't say too much. For all he knew, she could be a ruined woman of nobility who'd gotten too friendly with a stablehand and been tossed out because of it. She could be an unmarried mother. Only very brave men touched those ones.
That presented another problem. From her birth, she said. Well, he was sure that he had never met any Constanza Devilles. It had a certain theatrical ring to it, and he surely would have remembered. Then again, most people that he had known in his youth had been practically nameless. Everyone had nicknames or no last names at all. The fact that she had retained the same name since birth indicated that she had never been an orphan, though, which ruled out any person of her age at the time that he would have known in his youth. Then again, he had retained a name since birth. Why not?
He bypassed her question, quite deliberately, though trying to keep a polite conversational tone. She had caught him there, as he had no authorization from the owners of the building. The place was open to the well mannered and dressed portion on the public, anyhow. Why not the cellars? He hadn't given it any thought before pummeling down here. Guilt asailed him. Oh, well, he wouldn't lie to her. Niether would he answer her. He acted in every gentlemanly fashion now, earnestly bowing to her slightly.
"Mademoiselle, I know that this may come off as very rude, but I have such a sense of familiarity--were you ever orphaned here in Paris?" He asked, his face one of sincere apology and curiosity.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Sept 2, 2008 22:21:06 GMT -5
When the light hit the Inspectors face, Stanza wasn’t sure if she should snicker at his vampirish retreat or worry about the little thrill she got at the glance of the glorious disarray that he was. Tousled dark curls, rumbled clothes over a lean silhouette, and rough stubble on an attractive youthful face; younger than her but obviously past twenty-one. To some higher standing woman he might look unruly, but Stanza wasn’t one. In fact she found the Inspector to be at a handsome level of kept or unkept, even with the unappreciated glare. Wait! what was she thinking? A pleased smirk that had been creeping it’s way on her lips quickly vanished.
Yes, that little stir was something to worry about. She couldn’t be off purring over some guy when she had more important things to do. Like catching whoever was messing with her plans! That’s what is on the top of her list and her only objective. Coarse flirting with a law enforcer would be a great stress reliever and amusement. Get a hold of yourself Anais! Maybe Constanza had a hold of her more than she thought. Hopefully she wasn’t making face as she argued with herself, she had a bad habit of doing that. It was probably to dark to see if she had anyways.
Once getting her head to start thinking rationally she resumed how she was before she had to give herself a mental slap, causal stance and smirk, but with a playfully gleam in her blue green eyes that she didn’t consciously know of. She waited half expecting that she had caught something on him with him perusing down here. Why would he be down here? If there was a suspicion of criminals hanging out down here wouldn’t they have sent a police officer? Odd…yes that’s right stay on subject. Yes, good, wait that’s not the answer to her question. The fact that she had guessed correctly bypassed her though because of the question he asked.
Had she been an orphan in Paris? “…Oui Monsieur…at Madame Gilliards’.” A sense of familiarity? “Where you an orphan Inspector?” Certainly not. Least not at the one she was Madame Gilliards; she can’t remember the one before hers, all the boys there were evil little things like she was. Faure…doesn’t sound familiar, though of coarse lasts names weren’t very important to remember at the orphanage. Some kids had had three different last names, before Deville she had two. Unfortantly she wasn’t that good with faces back than. Familiarity…well she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing…most likely bad though.
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Post by Armand Faure on Sept 20, 2008 20:30:33 GMT -5
Armand watched speculatively as the shadow of a sly smile crept onto her face and then disappeared. Perhaps she knew him too, and was not admitting it. That would mean that he had either terrorised her, pursued her, or she was a criminal. Unfortunately for him, it was more likely the former two--both, actually. He hadn't exactly been an exemplary suitor. Neither was he now, though that was due exclusively to the fact that he had not pursued a woman since Louis' death, being too wrapped up in work and in effect, revenge. He wasn't about to allow himself to revise that decision.
His question had obviously caught her off guard, and then she became suspicious. So then she did not recognise him. He smiled slyly now. That was a good thing, especially since he still could not place a name to the painfully attractive face. "I was. I had a twin. I was less... astute, then." He said, now hoping that she would recognise him and reveal her own name. It would allow him to abuse his position and look into her records.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Sept 20, 2008 23:10:52 GMT -5
Of coarse he had been an orphan? Why else would he have even asked? Unless he had a six sense or something, but still even if he did why would her being an orphan be of any consequence unless he was one, or if he was looking for a criminal that matched her description and had been one. Thankfully it was the first one, other wise she probably would have just given herself away. She’d have to be more careful though with just handing out information to inspectors of officers. If she ever talked to another one again, which was doubtful.
“Trouble making twins eh? It’s somewhat rare in a orphanage…not the trouble making part.” It was more said to herself as she tried to think back to those days years ago. There was a lot of miscreant boys at Madame Gilliards’ and a few of them where siblings…but twins? Stanza worried her bottom lip as she tried to remember. “There was Trickster, Vince, and Knave, the Le Guerre brothers Luc and Serge…” she started naming off the nicknames of some of the siblings she could remember there, hoping that it might trigger something.
The names got quieter as her memory started to fail her on the rest of the siblings. The lantern swung in her hand a little bit as Stanza pressed hard to try and remember some ‘less than astute’ twins. Like she cared about remembering such a trivial thing. She was about to shrug she shoulders and confess that she could not think of any twins when it all of sudden hit her! What where their names…the calmer one….um…Louis! And what was the other one…Arnaud?…no….Armand!
Stanza’s eyes grew wide at the possablity of this being one of her arch rivals at tormenting the caretaker and any other staff in the house? Certainly not! Those two left for the street a year before she did and when they we’re only at least only a year or two older than ten! That little devil of a kid couldn’t be doing better than her and off of the streets! And no way could a kid like he had been become anything associated with the law except for running from it. Impossible! But still.
Stanza narrowed her eyes at the Inspector and, not really caring about his reactions a few moments ago, stepped closer to try and get a better look at his face. Not to swoon over it though. “Faure…I don’t remember that name…but I do remember twins. Louis…I think and some demon child Armand.” Stanza scoffed a bit when she said his name. She used to want to pick a fight with the boy trying to beat her at being the main devil child.
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Post by Armand Faure on Sept 21, 2008 2:04:19 GMT -5
He smiled. No, Louise had not been a trouble-maker, only he. He refrained from correcting her, as it was irrelevant--though it was hard to not defend his deceased brother. A pang of sadness hit him, remembering those days. They had been inseparable, two parts of one person. He had always thought that, that a mistake had a occurred, making all of the good parts of the person go to Louis and all the bad parts go to Armand. Armand often still felt like a piece of him was missing. He tried to take the trip down memory lane lightly, but it was hard. Mention of the other boys made him chuckle as memories assailed him--red ants in pillows, poison ivy in pant-legs, 'ghosts' demanding that a certain boy pull a certain Anais Cheever's hair--all very funny and dastardly deeds that often resulted in intense physical discomfort.
Armand tensed as she moved forward, again bringing the light over him. His eyes dropped closed against the light and he was assailed with a scent no man should ever be forced to resist. It was her, he realised, and he stepped back again then, this time to more away from her instead of the light. He tensed again as she mentioned him as a demon child. The phrase, strangely, brought to mind his nephew; but, being honest with himself, the description fit him just as well. He gulped, nervously running a hand through his mussed hair and looking away. How embarrassing.
"Louis Faure is... myself." He had been about to say 'deceased', but lied instead. It was the first time he had lied in years, and he instantly felt guilty. And yet... he somehow did not want to admit the death of his brother, nor that it was he who had probably terrorised the poor girl as a child. But he did not lie! It was personal rule! How could he...? His acting skills were superb. He never let a trace of the emotions assailing him show on his face.
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Post by Constanza Deville on Oct 4, 2008 22:32:00 GMT -5
Those were good times back than. Cutting other girl’s hair when they’re asleep, putting anger bees in trunks, and plumbing any boy that dared to try and mess with her. She may have been a little girl but she was a force to be reckoned with, and only the daring and stupid did. Really she hadn’t changed much this than except for going from a demon child herself to a skilled thief and up and coming imposter.
Stanza almost didn’t believe that he was telling the truth about being Louis, with the he chuckled at the mention of the terrorist of the orphanage and his hesitance that he was who he said he was. Being one herself she could usually tell if someone was lying. But the thought of Armand becoming Inspector Faure seemed impossible, but she could believe that Louis would. He was the complete opposite of his brother. “Really? How odd that we meet again in the cellar of an opera house?”
She had said with a luring smile before her own words started to sink in. A person from her past, now an officer, had tricked her, a thief, into admitting she knew him. It wouldn’t take long for him to remember, if he already hadn’t, that there was no Constanza Deville at the orphanage. What if he recognized her? What if he pulled up records on her? God knows what is on them! Her smile quickly changed to an apologetic one, not letting one minute of nervousness show.
“To bad it was in a cellar though. This place is bad for the health if you stay down here long, and I believe I have.” Stanza set the lantern down on the ground since he didn’t seem to like her moving it toward him, and she didn’t want to give him any more time to study her face. “Maybe we’ll meet up again above ground.” She said as politely as her character and hurriedness to get out of there would allow. Giving a tiny dip of a curtsy she picked up her skirt so that the hem came off the floor ready for a quick get away.
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Post by Armand Faure on Oct 25, 2008 21:47:28 GMT -5
Yes, odd. He thought he saw a bit of disbelief on her face, which would mark her as quite perceptive, but then second guessed himself into thinking that it was nothing. He wondered what she could possibly have been doing down in the cellar, really. An orphan from Madame Gilet's (as he used to call her, for her man-like appearance), in the cellar of the opera house... hm. Odd, indeed. She was familiar, so he must have known her, and her reciting of those names definitely proved her knowledge of the place at the time that he and his brother were there. Yet he could say with relative certainty that there was no Constanza Deville in the orphanage then. Was she lying about her name? Why would she lie about her name? It was not that her name had just been changed, either, for she had said that it had been her name since birth. Yet, with such a last name, he would surely have made up all sorts of cruel nicknames for her, and those he would remember.
Her smile caught him off guard, and he gulped. Merde, did she have to be so damned beautiful? Who was she? There were a few beauties in the orphanage, but that hardly meant anything. Louis and he had not looked so good themselves until they had matured.
He hardly heard her make her excuse, but her tone was enough to understand it. With brows knit, he bowed, his eyes fixed on her with a new intensity. His new, virtuous self often fell prey to awkwardness and insecurity; yet, when a mystery was presented, the Armand Faure came about, confident and quick-witted. And, if anything, this woman was a mystery. "I am sorry to see you go. It would please me greatly, however, if you would grant me the honour of a second meeting. Say, the Café Noir at seven tomorrow evening?" He arched one brow inquisitively, his eyes scanning her face. Her attempt at a quick exit had convinced him that (for more reasons than just her beauty) she was a person worth studying.
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