ny. _Merci, non._ They are robbers and thieves. Even if it did
arrive, half the things would be stolen. Oh, I know them."

She shook the head of an experienced and self-reliant woman. No doubt,
distrustful of banks as of railway companies, she kept her money hidden
in her bedroom. I pitied my poor young friend; he would need all his
gaiety to enliven the domestic side of the Cafe de l'Univers.

The lady having declined my invitation, I expressed my regrets; and
Aristide, more emotional, voiced his sense of heart-rent desolation,
and in a resigned tone informed me that it was time to start. I left the
lovers and went to the hotel, where I paid the bill, summoned McKeogh,
and lit a companionable pipe.

The car backed down the narrow street into the square and took up its
position. We entered. McKeogh took charge of Aristide's valise, tucked
us up in the rug, and settled himself in his seat. The car started and
we drove off, Aristide gallantly brandishing his hat and Mme. Gougasse
waving her lily hand, which happened to be hidden in an ill-fitting
black glove.

"To Montpellier, as fast as you can!" he shouted at the top of his lungs
to McKeogh. Then he sighed as he threw himself luxuriously back. "Ah,
this is better than a train. Amelie doesn't know what a mistake she has
made!"

The elderly victim of my furious entry was lounging, in spite of the
mistral, by the grim machicolated gateway. Instead of scowling at me he
raised his hat respectfully as we passed. I touched my cap, but Aristide
returned the salute with the grave politeness of royalty.

"This is a place," said he, "which I would like never to behold again."

In a few moments we were whirling along the straight, white road between
the interminable black vineyards, and past the dilapidated homesteads
of the vine-folk and wayside cafes that are scattered about this
unjoyous corner of France.

"Well," said he, suddenly, "what do you think of my _fiancee_?"

Politeness and good taste forbade expression of my real opinion. I
murmured platitudes to the effect that she seemed to be a most sensible
woman, with a head for business.

"She's not what we in French call _jolie, jolie_; but what of that?
What's the good of marrying a pretty face for other men to make love to?
And, as you English say, there's none of your confounded sentiment about
her. But she has the most flourishing cafe in Carcassonne; and, when the
ceiling is newly decorated, provided she doesn'