we going?"

"To France, _petit imbecile_," he cried. "Why are you not getting ready
to go there?"

I might have answered that I had no personal preparations to make; but
feeling rebuked for idleness while he was so busy, I began to clear away
the breakfast things. He stopped me.

"_Nom de Dieu_, we are not going to travel with cups and saucers!"

He dragged from the top of the cupboard an incredibly dirty carpet bag
of huge dimensions and decayed antiquity, and bade me pack therein our
belongings. The process was not a lengthy one; we had so few. When we
had little more than half filled the bag with articles of attire and the
toilette stuffed in pell-mell, we looked around for ballast.

"The books, Master," said I.

"We will take the immortal works of Maitre Francois Rabelais, and the
dirty little edition of 'David Copperfield.' The remainder of the
library we will sell in Holywell Street."

"And the violin?"

He picked up the maimed instrument and, after looking at it critically,
threw it into a corner.

"For Pogson," said he.

When we had tied up the books with a piece of stout string
providentially lying at the bottom of the cupboard, our preparations
were complete. Paragot donned his cap and a storm-stained Inverness
cape, grasped the carpet bag and looked round the room.

"_En route_," said he, and I followed with the books. We gained the
street and left the Lotus Club behind us for ever.

What Mrs. Housekeeper said, what Cherubino said, what the members said
when they found no Mr. Ulysses presiding at the supper table that
evening, what Mr. Pogson said when he learned that his assailant had
shaken the dust of the Lotus Club from off his feet and strolled into
the wide world without giving him the opportunity of serving a summons
for assault, I have never been able to discover. Nor have I learned who
succeeded Paragot as president and occupied the palatial chamber of all
the harmonies that was Paragot's squalid attic. When, in after years, I
returned to London the Lotus Club had passed from human memory, and at
the present day a perky set of office premises stands on its site. The
morality of Paragot's precipitate exodus I am not in a position to
discuss. From his point of view the fact of having disliked the new
proprietor from their first interview, and broken a fiddle over his
head, rendered his position as president untenable. Paragot walked out.

After having sold the books for a few shillings