or was presently opened by a mustachioed lady in
the dressing-sacque and heelless slippers which form the conventional
morning-wear of the lower bourgeoisie. But, yes; she admitted in answer
to his inquiry; the American Madame was _chez elle_. "Also Monsieur,"
she added, with smiling significance. "Ah, the devotion of _ces nouveaux
maries_!"

She added that if Monsieur would attend but one moment, she would mount
to announce his arrival.

The clink of a coin arrested her. "If Madame will have the goodness to
permit," suggested Philip, in French as fluent and far more correct than
her own, "I prefer to announce my arrival in person."

She shrugged. "But perfectly! As Monsieur wishes. It is a little effect,
perhaps? Monsieur is the brother, possibly; the cousin?" she asked, with
the friendly curiosity of her kind.

"Monsieur is the husband," said Philip grimly, and passed.

The concierge gasped. "The husband! Name of a name!"

But seeing that he was already mounting the stairs, paying no attention
whatever to her virtuous horror, the French-woman followed him on
tiptoe, murmuring to herself, "_Mais comme c'est chic, ca_!" She had her
racial taste for the spectacular.

At first she was somewhat disappointed. Applying alternately eye and ear
to the keyhole, she detected none of the imprecations, the excited
chatter, the nose-tweaking, the calling down of the just wrath of
Heaven, which the occasion seemed to demand.

"Ah bah, these English!" she muttered scornfully, "If but my Henri were
to discover me in such a situation--la, la!"

Philip, entering without knocking, had begun quietly and methodically to
remove his coat before Channing was aware of his presence. The author
looked up from his desk, surprised, and jumped to his feet, with an
expression of pleasure in his face. Philip's brain registered that fact
without attempting to explain it. Channing was undoubtedly glad to see
him.

"Why, Benoix! Where have you dropped from? I did not hear you knock!
What in the name of all that's pleasant brings you to Paris?"

He advanced with outstretched hand. Just at that moment, a woman entered
from the room beyond.

Philip, bracing himself, turned to face his wife....

But it was not Jacqueline. It was a Titian-haired, lissome young woman
upon whom he had never laid eyes before, and who returned his stare with
self-possessed interest.

Philip gave a great gasp. "Channing! Who--who is this woman?"

"My wife," ann