d Paragot had none. He talked
in a great way of resuming his profession, and even went the length of
buying drawing-paper and pins, and drawing-board and T-squares and
dividers and other working tools of the architect. But as a man cannot
design a palace or a pigstye and put it on the market as one can a book
or a picture, he made little headway with his project. He obtained the
conditions of an open competition for an Infectious Diseases Hospital
somewhere in Auvergne, and talked grandiosely about this for a day or
two; but when he came to set out the plan he found that he knew nothing
whatever about the modern requirements of such a building and cared
less.

"I will wait, my son, until there is something worthy of an artist's
endeavour. A Palace of Justice in an important town, or an Opera House.
Hospitals for infectious diseases do not inspire one, and I need
inspiration. Besides, the visit to Melford would break the continuity of
my work. I begin, my son Asticot, when I come back, and then you will
see. An ancient Prix de Rome, _nom de nom!_ has artistic
responsibilities. He must come back in splendour like Holger Danske when
he wakes from his enchanted slumber to conquer the earth."

Poor Holger Danske! When he does wake up he will find his conquering
methods a trifle out of date. Paragot did not take this view of his
simile. I believed him, however, and looked forward to the day when his
winning design for a cathedral would strike awe into a flabbergasted
world.

* * * * *

"My son," said he a day or two after he had resolved upon this
Resurrection in State, "I want Blanquette. An orderly household cannot
be properly conducted by the intermittent ministrations of a concierge."

Our good Blanquette, believing as I had done, that the Master was riding
about France on a donkey, was still in villegiatura with our farmer
friends near Chartres, and in order that she should have as long a
holiday as possible he had hitherto forbidden me to enlighten her as to
his change of project.

"Besides," he added, "Blanquette has a place in my heart which the
concierge hasn't. I also want those I love to share the happiness that
has fallen to my lot. You will write to her my son and ask whether she
wants to come home."

"She will take the first train," said I.

"Blanquette is a curious type of the absolute feminine," he remarked.
"She is never happier than when she can regard us as a couple