The daylight was glimmering through the closed jalousies, making stripes of light upon the ceiling.
"Madame," I said, "I must go home--to England--by the early train, this morning! May I ask you to explain to Monsieur le Vicomte." "Yes," she answered, turning and facing me.

"Your coffee will be ready at seven o'clock.

And none of us will come downstairs until after your departure.

At such times a man is better alone--is it not so?
For a woman it is different." I extinguished the useless lamp, and we passed round the gallery together.

At the door of my bedroom she stopped, and turning, laid her hand--as light as a child's--upon my arm.
"What will you, my poor friend ?" she said, with a queer little smile.
"_C'est la vie._" It is not my intention to dwell at length upon my journey to England and all that awaited me there.