once to Madame
in her private room?

"I'll come now," I said. "Professor, you must excuse me."

"Don't mention it. I shall occupy myself in hanging the picture in the
most artistic way possible."

So I left him, his mind apparently concentrated on the childish task of
pinning the photograph of the ridiculous horse on my bedroom wall,
and went with the most complicated feelings downstairs and through the
corridors to Lola's apartments.

She rose to meet me as I entered.

"It's very kind of you to come," she said in her fluent but Britannic
French. "May I present my husband, Monsieur Vauvenarde."

Monsieur Vauvenarde and I exchanged bows. I noticed at once that he wore
the Frenchman's costume when he pays a _visite de ceremonie_, frock-coat
and gloves, and that a silk hat lay on the table. I was glad that he
paid her this mark of respect.

"I have had the pleasure of meeting you before, Monsieur," said he, "in
circumstances somewhat different."

"I remember perfectly," said I.

"And your charming but inexperienced little friend--is he well?"

"He is at present decorating my room with photographs of Madame's late
horse, Sultan," said I.

He was startled, and gave me a quick, sharp look. I did not notice it
at the time, but I remembered it later. Then he broke into an indulgent
laugh.

"The poor animal!" He turned to Lola. "How jealous I used to be of him!
And how quickly the time flies. But give yourself the trouble of seating
yourself, Monsieur."

He motioned me to a chair and sat down. He was a man of polished manner
and had a pleasant voice. I guessed that in the days when he paid court
to Lola, he had been handsome in his dark Norman way, and possessed
considerable fascination. Evil living and sordid passions had coarsened
his features, produced bagginess under the eyes and a shiftiness of
glance. Idleness and an inverted habit of life were responsible for
the nascent paunch and the rolls of fat at the back of his neck. He
suggested the revivified corpse of a fine gentleman that had been
unnaturally swollen. I had disliked him at the Cercle Africain; now I
detested him heartily. The idea of Lola entering the vitiated atmosphere
of his life was inexpressibly repugnant to me.

Contrary to her habit, Lola sat bolt upright on the stamped-velvet
suite, the palms of her hands pressing the seat on either side of her.
She caught the shade of disgust that swept over my face, and gave me a
quick glance that pl