The huge mushroom-umbrellas were collapsed and rushed into the
kiosks--some of them into the one where I sat, it being the largest;
small tables were turned upside down, and tilted against the
tree-trunks, and the storm-curtains of all the little kiosks let down
and buttoned tight to the frames. Waiters ran hither and thither, with
napkins and aprons over their heads, carrying fresh courses for the
several tables or escaping with their empty dishes.
In the midst of this melee a cab dashed up to the next kiosk to mine,
the wheels cutting into the soft gravel; the curtains were quickly drawn
wide by a half-drowned waiter, and a young man with jet-black hair and
an Oriental type of face slipped in between them.
Another carriage now dashed up, following the grooves of the first
wheels--not a cab this time, but a perfectly appointed coupe, with two
men in livery on the box, and the front windows banked with white
chrysanthemums. I could not see her face from where I sat--she was too
quick for that--but I saw the point of a tiny shoe as it rested for an
instant on the carriage-step and a whirl of lace about a silk stocking.
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