xactly as she had seen others do,
and at last they were on the roof, and the silhouettes of other fantastic
figures and of cowled chimney pots stood out dark against the vague yellow
glow of the city beneath. While Musa was pointing out the historic
landmarks to her, she was thinking how she could never again be the girl
who had left Moze on the previous morning. And yet Musa was so natural and
so direct that it was impossible to take him for anything but a boy, and
hence Audrey sank back into early girlhood, talking spasmodically to Musa
as she used in school days to talk to the brother of her school friend.

"I will teach you French," said Musa, unaware that he had numerous
predecessors in the offer. "But will you play tennis with me in the gardens
of the Luxembourg?"

Audrey said she would, and that she would buy a racket.

"Tell me about all those artists Miss Nickall spoke of," she said. "I must
know about all the artists, and all the musicians, and all the authors. I
must know all about them at once. I shan't sleep until I know all their
names and I can talk French. I shan't _sleep_."

Musa began the catalogue. When a girl came and chucked him under the chin,
he angrily slapped her face. Then, to avoid complications, they descended.

In the middle of the studio, wearing a silk hat, a morning coat, striped
trousers, yellow gloves, and boots with spats, stood a smiling figure.

"_Voila_ Dauphin!" said Musa.

"Musa!" called Monsieur Dauphin, espying the youth on the staircase. Then
he made a gesture to the orchestra: "Give him a violin!"

Audrey stood by Musa while he played a dance that nobody danced to, and
when he had finished she was rather ashamed, under the curtain of wild
cheering, because with her Essex incredulity she had not sufficiently
believed in Musa's greatness.

"Permit your host to introduce himself," said a voice behind her, not in
the correct English of a linguistic Frenchman, but in utterly English
English. She had now descended to the floor of the studio.

Emile Dauphin raised his glossy hat, and then asked to be allowed to put it
on again, as the company had decided that it was part of his costume. He
had a delicious smile, at once respectful and intimate. Audrey had read
somewhere that really great men were always simple and unaffected--indeed
that it was often impossible to guess from their demeanour that, etc.,
etc.--and this experience of the first celebrity with whom she had ever