ral years he had contemplated this trip, which, he apprised us,
would take at least an hour each way. I bade him good courage, and we
went upstairs. While Frieda went into Mrs. Dupont's room, I turned on
the gas in mine and sat before my window, with my feet on the ledge,
smoking my calabash.

"Has Monsieur looked upon his bed?" Eulalie startled me by asking
suddenly.

Now, in order to respond with decent civility, I was compelled to remove
my feet from their resting place, to take the pipe from my mouth and
turn in my chair. Women can sometimes be considerable nuisances.

"No," I answered, "I have not looked upon the bed. Why should I? A bed
is the last resource of the weary and afflicted, it is one of the things
one may be compelled to submit to without becoming reconciled to it. I
take good care never to look at it so long as I can hold a book in my
hand or watch passers-by in the street."

"Very well, Monsieur," she answered placidly. "It is all there, and I
have darned the holes in the socks."

This was highly interesting and I hastily rose to inspect her handiwork.
She had placed my washing on the coverlet and the result looked like an
improvement on Celestial efforts. I took up the topmost pair of socks
and gazed upon it, while a soft and chastened feeling stole over me.

"Thank you, Eulalie," I said, with some emotion. "It is exceedingly
nice; I am glad you called my attention to it. In the future I shall be
obliged, if you will stuff it in the chiffonier. Had I first seen all
this on going to bed, I am afraid I should have pitched it on the
floor, as usual, and been sorry for it next morning."

She smilingly complied at once with my request and withdrew, bidding me
a good night, while I sat again, feeling great contentment. I had now
discovered that a man, if lucky, might have his socks darned without
being compelled to take a wife unto himself, with all the uncomfortable
appurtenances thereof. It was a new and cheering revelation. No sooner
had I begun to cogitate over the exquisiteness of my fate than I was
disturbed again, however. Frieda partly obeyed conventionality by
knocking upon my open door and walking in.

"Frances Dupont wants me to thank you ever so much for the pretty roses,
David," she told me. "It was really very kind of you to bring them. I
have snipped the stems and changed the water and put them on the window
sill for the night."

"Yes," I explained, "I had to change that twenty-dol