er the
fire before the young man answered. He stood, his hands in his
trousers-pockets, his head bent thoughtfully. Then he spoke, and his
words mingled with the hissing of the omelet. "I think she must," he
said with a certain dignified simplicity, "or she would not have
accepted me. But--not as I love her. That could not be, you know."

The eavesdroppers started apart guiltily, and for a second Brigit wanted
to rush up the stairs and out of the house. She had heard too much.

But Joyselle, gently pushing her out of his way, ran down the steps and
with a big laugh threw his arms round his boy and kissed him.

"_Voyons l'amoureux_," he cried, "show me thy face of a lover, little
boy, who only yesterday wore aprons and climbed on my knees to search
for sweets in my pockets!"

Madame Joyselle turned quietly, after having, with a dexterous twist of
her frying-pan, flopped her omelet to its other side. "Victor! And what
brings you back, my man?"

Her pleasant, placid face was a great contrast to his as he rushed at
her and kissed her hot cheek.

"_Va t'en_--you will make me drop Theo's omelet."

Joyselle took Theo's hands in his and looked solemnly at his son. "My
dear," he said, "my very dear son, God bless you and--her."

Again Brigit longed to flee, but she knew that if she tried, Joyselle
would be after her like a shot, and, she realised with an irrepressible
little laugh, probably pick her up and carry her down to the kitchen.

"Are you hungry, my man?" asked Madame Joyselle, slipping the omelet
onto a warmed platter, "there is some galantine de volaille truffee, and
this, and some cold veal."

Joyselle patted her affectionately on the back.

"_Oui, oui, my femme_, I am hungry. But--Theo--to-night I am a wizard. I
will grant you any wish you may have in your heart."

"Any wish----"

"_Pauvre petit_, tell him not that, Victor, my man. What would the poor
angel desire but the impossible?"

Theo stood silently looking at them. He was evidently in no mood for
farce, but as evidently he adored this noisy big father who towered
above his slender height like a giant, and tried to force himself to his
father's humour. "Dear papa," he murmured, "it is good that you have
come. I am so happy."

Joyselle seized the opportunity, such as it was, and turning to the open
door, called out in a voice trembling with pleasure and mischief, "Fairy
Princess, come forth."

And the disdainful, bored, too often frankly ill-