There was much ceremony when they departed--much French _politesse_, and many charming little attentions were paid.

Marie assisted Monsieur on with his coat, which, being British, he strongly objected to.

Berthe brought Madame a beautiful chrysanthemum from the vase on one of the vacant tables and, when Sally proposed wearing it, insisted upon pinning it in herself, her eyes dancing with delight as she stood back to admire its effect.
Berthe and Marie stood at the bottom of the stairs as they ascended.
"Au'voir, Monsieur--merci--au'voir, Madame." Now it was like a duet of little cuckoo clocks, both in unison, both in time, both with that fascinating touch of the nasal Parisienne voice.

Sally was enchanted with it all.
Last of all there was Madame--Madame smiling--Madame rubbing her fat, homely hands together--Madame's twinkling brown eyes dancing upon the two of them.
"You had a good dinner, Monsieur ?" "Excellent, thank you, Madame." "Oh, Monsieur;" she caught Traill's arm and detained him as Sally went out in front.

"Oh--monsieur--elle est charmante!" Her eyes lifted and her hands carried the words upwards--to heaven, if need be.
Traill threw back his head and laughed.