ed
mission of courier to headquarters. As we passed various street corners
where the mistral blast struck at us fiercely I could feel him shivering
by my side. However, Therese would have lighted the iron stove in the
studio before retiring for the night, and, anyway, I would have to turn
her out to make up a bed on the couch. Service of the King! I must say
that she was amiable and didn't seem to mind anything one asked her to
do. Thus while the fellow slumbered on the divan I would sit upstairs in
my room setting down on paper those great words of passion and sorrow
that seethed in my brain and even must have forced themselves in murmurs
on to my lips, because the man by my side suddenly asked me: "What did
you say?"--"Nothing," I answered, very much surprised. In the shifting
light of the street lamps he looked the picture of bodily misery with his
chattering teeth and his whiskers blown back flat over his ears. But
somehow he didn't arouse my compassion. He was swearing to himself, in
French and Spanish, and I tried to soothe him by the assurance that we
had not much farther to go. "I am starving," he remarked acidly, and I
felt a little compunction. Clearly, the first thing to do was to feed
him. We were then entering the Cannebiere and as I didn't care to show
myself with him in the fashionable restaurant where a new face (and such
a face, too) would be remarked, I pulled up the fiacre at the door of the
Maison Doree. That was more of a place of general resort where, in the
multitude of casual patrons, he would pass unnoticed.

For this last night of carnival the big house had decorated all its
balconies with rows of coloured paper lanterns right up to the roof. I
led the way to the grand salon, for as to private rooms they had been all
retained days before. There was a great crowd of people in costume, but
by a piece of good luck we managed to secure a little table in a corner.
The revellers, intent on their pleasure, paid no attention to us. Senor
Ortega trod on my heels and after sitting down opposite me threw an
ill-natured glance at the festive scene. It might have been about
half-past ten, then.

Two glasses of wine he drank one after another did not improve his
temper. He only ceased to shiver. After he had eaten something it must
have occurred to him that he had no reason to bear me a grudge and he
tried to assume a civil and even friendly manner. His mouth, however,
betrayed an abiding