iture and book backs and silver and has hung
fresh blinds and scrubbed and scoured until I am afraid to walk about
or sit down lest I should tarnish the spotless brightness of my
surroundings.

"You have forgotten one thing, Antoinette," I remarked, satirically.
"You have omitted to strew the front steps with rose-leaves."

"I would cover them with my body for the dear angel to walk upon as she
entered," said Antoinette.

"That would scarcely be rose-leaves," I murmured.

Antoinette laughed. "And Monsieur then! He is just as bad. Has he not
put new curtains in the room of Mademoiselle, and a new toilette table,
and a set of silver brushes and combs and I know not what, as for the
toilette of a princess? And the eiderdown in pink satin? _Regardez-moi
ca!_ Monsieur can no longer say that it is I alone who spoil the dear
angel."

"Monsieur," said I, at a loss for a better retort, "will say whatever
Monsieur pleases."

"It is indeed the right of Monsieur," said Antoinette, respectfully, but
with a twinkle in her eye not devoid of significance.

Does the crafty old woman suspect? Perhaps my preparations for
Carlotta's return have been inordinate, for they have extended to the
transformation of the sitting-room downstairs into a lady's boudoir.
I have been busy this happy week. But what care I? It will not be
long before I have to say to her, "Antoinette, there is going to be a
wedding."

I must be on my guard lest, in the transports of her joy, she clasp me
to her capacious bosom!

CHAPTER XIV

October 7th.

At Paddington I came upon Sebastian Pasquale lounging about the arrival
platform. As I had not seen or heard of him since the end of July I had
concluded that he was wandering as usual over the globe. He greeted me
effusively, holding out both hands in his foreign fashion.

"My dear old Ordeyne! who would have thought of meeting you here? What
wind blows you to Paddington?"

"I expect Carlotta by the Plymouth Express."

"The fair Carlotta? And how is she? And what is she doing at Plymouth?"

In the middle of my explanation he pulled out his watch.

"By Jove! I must get to the next platform and catch my train to Ealing.
I was just killing time about the station. I like seeing a train
come in--the gleam and smoke and rush and whirr of the evil-looking
thing--and the sudden metamorphosis of its sleek sides into mouths
belching forth humanity. I think of Hades. This, by the way, isn't a bad
re