Never was there a sweeter lady than mine. She welcomed me
as if such things as wash-tubs, tambourines, Cafe Delphines and
absinthiated Paragots had never existed, and I were one of her own
people.

"How I long to get back," she cried when I had told her of my modest
exploits at the Ewings. "I have not been to Melford for five years. When
will you come, Gaston?"

They had evidently made good use of their previous interviews.

"I am going to live in England," she explained. "At first I shall stay
with my mother at Melford. She is an old friend of Mr. de Nerac's. Oh,
Gaston, she does so want to see you--I have told her the whole story--of
course she knew all my poor father's affairs. And I have a cousin whose
people live at Melford too, Major Walters--I don't think you know him--a
dear fellow. He has just been at Nevers helping me to settle up things.
He is my trustee. You must be great friends."

"I remember the name," said Paragot.

"Why of course you ought to," she cried prettily with a laugh and a
blush. "I had forgotten. You were pleased to be jealous of him. Mr.
Asticot, you will have to forgive us for dragging memories out of the
dust heap. It is all so very long ago. Dear me!" Her face grew pathetic.
"It is very long ago, Gaston."

"Thirteen years," said he.

I calculated. Joanna was a grown-up woman about to be married when my
age was six. I suddenly felt very young indeed.

The waiters set the lunch. Joanna, most perfect of hostesses, presided
gaily, cracked little jokes for my entertainment and inspired me with
the power of quite elegant conversation. Paragot preserved his correct
demeanour and, to my puzzledom, spoke very little. I wondered whether
the repressive influence lay in the spats or the purple cravat with the
yellow spots. As a painter I didn't like the cravat. He drank a great
deal of water with his wine. I noticed him once pause in the act of
conveying to his mouth a bit of bread held in his fingers with which he
had mopped up the sauce in his plate, and furtively conceal it between
his cutlet bones--a manoeuvre which, at the time, I could not
understand. In the _Quartier Latin_ we cleaned our plates to a bright
polish with bits of bread. How else could you consume the sauce?

At the end of the meal Joanna gave us permission to smoke.

"I won't smoke, thank you," said Paragot politely.

"Rubbish!" laughed Joanna, whereupon Paragot produced a cigarette case
from the breast pocket of his