he windows and a cage
containing a canary hung between them. Three or four oleographs--one a
portrait of Garibaldi--in gilt frames formed the artistic decoration.

"It was I who chose the pictures," said Blanquette proudly.

She opened a door and disclosed the sleeping chamber of the Master, very
bare, but very clean. Another door led into the kitchen--a slip of a
place but glistening like the machine room of a man-of-war.

"I have a bedroom upstairs, and there is one also for you which the
Master has taken. Come and I will show you."

We mounted to the attics and I was duly installed.

"I would have put some flowers if I had known you were coming," said
Blanquette.

We went down again and she prepared food for me, her plain face beaming
as she talked. She was entirely happy. No one so perfect as the Master
had ever been the head of a household. Of course he was untidy. But such
was the nature of men. If he did not make stains on the floor with muddy
boots and lumps of meat thrown to Narcisse, and litter the rooms with
clothes and tobacco and books, what occupation would there be for a
housekeeper? As it was she worked from morning to night. And the result;
was it not neat and clean and beautiful? Ah! she was happy not to be
playing the zither in _brasseries_. All her dreams were realised. She
had a _menage_. And she had the Master to serve. Now would she fetch him
from the Cafe Delphine.

* * * * *

Half an hour afterwards he strode into the room, followed by Blanquette
and Narcisse. He spoke in French and embraced me French fashion. Then he
cried out in English and wrung me by the hand. He was almost as excited
as Narcisse who leaped and barked frantically.

"It is good to have him back, eh Blanquette?"

"_Oui, Maitre._ He does not know how sad it has been without him."

Blanquette smiled, wept and removed the remains of my supper. Then she
set on the table glasses and a bottle of _tisane_ they had bought on the
way home. We drank the sour sweet champagne as if it were liquid gold
and clinked glasses, and with Narcisse all talked and barked together.
It was a glad home-coming.

Paragot had changed very little. The hair on his temple was beginning to
turn grey and his sallow cheeks were thinner. But he was the same hairy
unkempt creature of prodigious finger nails and disreputable garments,
still full of strange oaths and picturesque fancy, and still smoking his
pipe with th