nds. Of course I'm coming back. I'd
like to stay to-morrow, and----"

"You certainly must not! I won't dine with you to-night if you do."

"Will you if I don't?"

"Perhaps."

"Then I'll order the dinner before I start for the cathedral. I want it
to be a perfect one."

"But--I've said only perhaps."

"Don't you want to pour a little honest gold into poor old Madame
Mounet's pocket?"

"Ye-es."

"If so, you mustn't chase away her customers."

"For her sake, the dinner is a bargain!"

"Not the least bit for my sake?"

"Oh, but yes! I've enjoyed our talk. And you've been so _nice_ about my
brother's pictures."

So it is settled. I put on my prettiest dress, white muslin, with some
fresh red roses Madame Mounet brings me; and the dinner-table in the
summer-house is a picture, with pink Chinese lanterns, pink-shaded
candles, and pink geraniums. Madame won't decorate with roses because
she explains, roses anywhere except on my _toilette_, "spoil the unique
effect of Mademoiselle."

The little inn on the canal-side buzzes with excitement. Not within the
memory of man or woman has there been so important a client as Mr. Jim
Wyndham. Most motoring millionaires dash by in a cloud of dust to the
cathedral town, where a smart modern hotel has been run up to cater for
tourists. This magnificent Monsieur Americain engages the "suite of the
Empress Eugenie," as it grandly advertises itself, for his own use and
that of his chauffeur, merely to bathe in, and rest in, though they are
not to stay the night. And the dinner ordered will enable Madame to show
what she can do, a chance she rarely gets from cheeseparing customers,
like Brian and me, and others of our ilk.

I am determined not to betray my childish eagerness by being first at
the rendezvous. I keep to my hot room, until I spy a tall young figure
of a man in evening dress striding toward the arbour. To see this sight,
I have to be at my window; but I hide behind a white curtain and a
screen of wistaria and roses. I count sixty before I go down. I walk
slowly. I stop and examine flowers in the garden. I could catch a
wonderful gold butterfly, but perhaps it is as happy as I am. I wouldn't
take its life for anything on earth! As I watch it flutter away, my host
comes out of the arbour to meet me.

We pass two exquisite hours in each other's company. I recall each
subject on which we touch and even the words we speak, as if all were
written in a journal. The air