nglish, could you? He always spoke English to me. In
French it is different. I like it. What did he say? _'Sacre mille
cochons'!_"

She imitated him delightfully. You have no idea what a dainty musical
phrase this peculiarly offensive expletive became when uttered by her
lips.

"After all," she said, "it only means 'sacred thousand pigs'--but why
aren't you painting, Mr. Asticot?"

"Because you have got entirely out of pose, Madame."

Whereupon it was necessary to fix her head again, and my silly fingers
tingled as they touched her hair. It is a good thing for a boy of
nineteen to be romantically in love with Joanna. He can thus live
spiritually beyond his means, without much danger of bankruptcy, and his
extravagance shall be counted to him for virtue. Also if he is painting
the princess of his dreams, he has such an inspiration as is given but
to the elect, and what skill he is possessed of must succeed in its
purpose.

One morning she found on her arrival a bowl of roses, which I had bought
in the markets, placed against her chair on the dais. She uttered a
little cry of pleasure and came to me both hands outstretched. Taking
mine, she turned her head, in an adorable attitude, half upwards to
Paragot.

"I believe it is Mr. Asticot who is in love with me, Gaston. Aren't you
jealous?"

I blushed furiously. Paragot smiled down on her.

"Hasn't every man you met fallen in love with you since you were two
years old?"

"I forgive you," she cried, "because you still can make pretty speeches.
Thank you for the roses, Mr. Asticot. If I wore one would you paint it
in? Or would it spoil your colour scheme?"

I selected the rose which would best throw up the pink sea-shell of her
face, and she put it gaily in her corsage. She pirouetted up to the dais
and with a whisk of skirts seated herself on the throne.

"If any of my French friends and relations knew I were doing this they
would die of shock. It's lovely to defy conventions for a while. One
will soon have to yield to them."

"Conventions are essential for the smooth conduct of social affairs,"
remarked Paragot.

She looked at him quizzically. "My dear Gaston, if you go on cultivating
such unexceptional sentiments, they'll turn _you_ into a churchwarden as
soon as you set foot in Melford."

I had seen, for the first time in my life, a churchwarden in Somerset, a
local cheesemonger of appalling correctitude. If Paragot ever came to
resemble him, he was los