itself
before me."

While Paragot was playing on the lighter side of the conjuncture, my
mind danced in wonder and delight. I read the letter, which he left in
my hands, several times over. He was cleared in Joanna's eyes; nay more,
he stood revealed a hero. The generous ardour of youth bedewed my
eyelids.

"Master," I cried, "this must be wonderful news for you."

He nodded over his coffee cup.

"You are right, my little Asticot; it is," he answered gravely.

* * * * *

When I called at the Hotel Meurice at noon, I was conducted with
embarrassing ceremony to Madame de Verneuil's private sitting-room, and
on my way I rehearsed, in some trepidation, the polite formula of
condolence which Paragot had taught me. When I entered, the sight of
Joanna's face drove polite formulae out of my head. She was dressed in
black, it is true, but the black only set off the shell pink of her
cheeks and the blue of her eyes which were no longer frozen, but laughed
at me, as if a visit of condolence were the gayest event possible.

"It is so good of you, Mr. Asticot, to come and see me. Mr. de Nerac
tells me you have travelled straight from Somerset in order to do it.
How is the West Country looking? I am of the West Country myself--one of
these days you will let me shew it you. I like him much better, Gaston,
dressed like an Englishman, instead of in that dreadful student get-up,
which makes him look like a brigand. Yes, England has agreed with him.
Oh! do take off your gloves and put your hat down. I am not a French
mamma with a daughter whose hand you are asking. Gaston, I am sure you
told him to keep on his gloves!"

"I am responsible for his decorum, Joanna," said my Master, solemnly.

I noticed that he too had discarded hat, gloves and umbrella which lay
forlorn on a distant table. Still his coat was buttoned, and he sat bolt
upright on his chair. Madame de Verneuil's silvery voice rippled on. She
was girlishly excited.

"I have persuaded Mr. de Nerac to lunch with me," she said happily. "And
you must do the same. Will you ring the bell? We'll have it up here. And
now tell me about Somerset."

Never was there a sweeter lady than mine. Yes, I call her mine; and with
reason. Was she not the first vision of gracious womanhood that came
into my childhood's world? Up to then woman to me was my mother and Mrs.
Housekeeper. Joanna sprang magically, as in an Arabian Night, out of an
old stocking.