d to come to the Villa Cordouan after dinner for a little
music found the English banker complacently installed in the largest
chair, with a shirt-front evading the constraint of an abnormal
waistcoat, and a sleepy chin drooping surreptitiously toward it.

"He is my banker from Paris," whispered Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence to
one and another. "He knows nothing, and so far as I am aware, is no
politician--merely a banker, you understand. Leave him alone and he will
go to sleep."

During the three weeks which Loo Barebone had spent very pleasantly
at the Villa Cordouan, Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence had provided music and
light refreshment for her friends on several occasions. And each
evening the drawing-room, which was not a small one, had been filled to
overflowing. Friends brought their friends and introduced them to
the hostess, who in turn presented them to Barebone. Some came from a
distance, driving from Saintes or La Rochelle or Pons. Others had taken
houses for the bathing-season at Royan itself.

"He never makes a mistake," said the hostess to Dormer Colville, behind
her fan, a hundred times, following with her shrewd eyes the gay and
easy movements of Loo, who seemed to be taught by some instinct to suit
his manner to his interlocutor.

To-night there was more music and less conversation.

"Play him to sleep," Dormer Colville had said to his cousin. And at
length Turner succumbed to the soft effect of a sonata. He even snored
in the shade of a palm, and the gaiety of the proceedings in no way
suffered.

It was only Colville who seemed uneasy and always urged any who were
talking earnestly to keep out of earshot of the sleeping Englishman.
Once or twice he took Barebone by the arm and led him to the other end
of the room, for he was always the centre of the liveliest group and led
the laughter there.

"Oh! but he is charming, my dear," more than one guest whispered to Mrs.
St. Pierre Lawrence, as they took their departure.

"He will do--he will do," the men said with a new light of hope in their
grave faces.

Nearly all had gone when John Turner at length woke up. Indeed, Colville
threw a book upon the floor to disturb his placid sleep.

"I will come round to-morrow," he said, bidding his hostess good night.
"I have some papers for you to sign since you are determined to sell
your rentes and leave the money idle at your bank."

"Yes. I am quite determined," she answered, gaily, for she was before
her time