nly, which was new to one who, like myself, had lived
mostly among men. Indeed, my companions of former days--no saints, I
admit--would have been surprised could they have seen me bowing and
making _conges_ to this elderly lady like a dancing master. Moreover,
the post I sought was lapsing into a domestic situation, for which my
antecedents eminently unfitted me, nor did I pretend to think
otherwise. Had I reached the age of discretion? Is there indeed such
an age? I have seen old men and women who make one doubt it. At
thirty-one does a man begin to range himself? "Ah, well!" thought I,
"_vogue la galere_." I had made a beginning, and in Norfolk they do
not breed men who leave a quest half accomplished.

For a moment I waited, and Madame seemed to have nothing more to say.
I had not at that time, nor indeed have I since, acquired that polish
of the world which takes the form of a brilliant, and I suspect
insincere, manner in society. I had no compliments ready. I therefore
took my leave.

The Vicomte accompanied me to the top of the stairs, and there made
sure that the servants were awaiting my departure in the hall.

"To-morrow morning," he said, with a friendly touch on my arm, "you
shall have my answer."

With this news then I returned to my comfortable quarters in John
Turner's _appartement_ in the Avenue d'Antan. I found that great
banker about to partake of luncheon, which was served to him at
midday, after the fashion of the country of his adoption. During my
walk across the river and through the gardens of the Tuileries--at
that time at the height of their splendour--I had not reflected very
deeply on the matter in hand. I had thought more of Mademoiselle de
Clericy's bright eyes than aught else.

"Good morning," said my host, whom I had not seen before going out.
"Where have you been?"

"To the Vicomte de Clericy's."

"The devil you have! Then you are not so stolid as you look."

And he laughed as he shook out his table napkin. His thought was only
half with me, for he was looking at the menu.

"Arcachon oysters!" he added; "the best in the world! I hate your
bloated natives. Give me a small oyster."

"Give me a dozen," I answered, helping myself from the dish at my
elbow.

"And did the Vicomte kick you downstairs?" asked my host, as he
compounded in the dip of his plate a wonderful mixture of vinegar and
spices.

"No. He is going to consider my application, and will give me his
answer to-morr