one of my compatriots. He is alone, he is ignorant of
your language--I and my good friend, here, have no choice but to go and
help him. What can I say in my excuse? How can I describe my affliction
at depriving myself in this way of the honour of your company?"

He paused, evidently expecting to see Vendale take up his hat and retire.
Discerning his opportunity at last, Vendale determined to do nothing of
the kind. He met Obenreizer dexterously, with Obenreizer's own weapons.

"Pray don't distress yourself," he said. "I'll wait here with the
greatest pleasure till you come back."

Marguerite blushed deeply, and turned away to her embroidery-frame in a
corner by the window. The film showed itself in Obenreizer's eyes, and
the smile came something sourly to Obenreizer's lips. To have told
Vendale that there was no reasonable prospect of his coming back in good
time, would have been to risk offending a man whose favourable opinion
was of solid commercial importance to him. Accepting his defeat with the
best possible grace, he declared himself to be equally honoured and
delighted by Vendale's proposal. "So frank, so friendly, so English!" He
bustled about, apparently looking for something he wanted, disappeared
for a moment through the folding-doors communicating with the next room,
came back with his hat and coat, and protesting that he would return at
the earliest possible moment, embraced Vendale's elbows, and vanished
from the scene in company with the speechless friend.

Vendale turned to the corner by the window, in which Marguerite had
placed herself with her work. There, as if she had dropped from the
ceiling, or come up through the floor--there, in the old attitude, with
her face to the stove--sat an Obstacle that had not been foreseen, in the
person of Madame Dor! She half got up, half looked over her broad
shoulder at Vendale, and plumped down again. Was she at work? Yes.
Cleaning Obenreizer's gloves, as before? No; darning Obenreizer's
stockings.

The case was now desperate. Two serious considerations presented
themselves to Vendale. Was it possible to put Madame Dor into the stove?
The stove wouldn't hold her. Was it possible to treat Madame Dor, not as
a living woman, but as an article of furniture? Could the mind be
brought to contemplate this respectable matron purely in the light of a
chest of drawers, with a black gauze held-dress accidentally left on the
top of it? Yes, the mind co