great satisfaction. "It was you who were to be the
entertainer! Is our Mephisto abroad yet?" she asked, in a lower tone.
"I, too, am feeling his fascination--I long for another glimpse of
him."

"Mephisto is still wrestling with his heart, which, it seems, is
scarcely able to furnish the blood necessary to keep him going. The
doctor tells me that he'll probably spend the voyage abed."

"So there'll be nothing for us to do, after all! Do you know, Mr.
Lester, I was longing to become a female Lecoq!"

"Perhaps you may still have the chance," I said gloomily. "I doubt
very much whether Mephisto will consent to remain inactive. He
doesn't look to be that sort."

She clapped her hands, and nodded a laughing recognition to one of the
passing promenaders.

"You're going to Paris, aren't you, Miss Kemball?" I asked.

"To Paris--yes. You too? You must be, since you're going to France."

"We go first to Etretat," I said, and stopped, as she leaned,
laughing, back in her chair. "Why, what's wrong with that?" I
demanded, in some astonishment.

"Wrong? Oh, nothing. Etretat's a most delightful place--only it
recalled to me an amusing memory of how my mother was one day
scandalized there by some actresses who were bathing. It's the
prettiest little fishing-village, with the finest cliffs I ever saw.
But it's hardly the season for Etretat--the actresses have not yet
arrived. You'll find it dull."

"We will not stay there long," I said. "But tell me about it. I
should like to know."

"Etretat," said my companion, "is rather a bohemian resort. Alphonse
Karr discovered it somewhere back in the dark ages, and advertised
it--the Etretatians were immensely grateful, and named the main street
of the town after him--and since then a lot of artists and theatrical
people have built villas there. It has a little beach of gravel where
people bathe all day long. When one's tired of bathing, there are the
cliffs and the downs, and in the evening there's the casino. You know
French, Mr. Lester?"

"Why," I explained, "I was supposed to study it at college. I still
remember my '_j'ai, tu a, il a_.'"

"You'll remember more when you get to Etretat," she laughed. "You'll
have to, or starve."

"Oh, I also know the phrase made immortal by Mark Twain."

"'_Avez-vous du vin?_'--yes."

"And I think I also have a hazy recollection of the French equivalents
for bread and butter and cheese and meat. We shan't starve--besides, I
think Mr. Royc