All the time he talked, save when mademoiselle interrupted him.

Seated upon a chair which seemed absurdly inadequate, his great stomach with its vast expanse of white waistcoat in full view, his short legs doubled up beneath him, he beamed upon them all with a smile which never failed.
"It is a wonderful place," he declared, as he lifted his glass for the fifth time.

"We will drink to it, this Monte Carlo.

It is here that they come from all quarters of the world--the ladies who charm away our hearts," he added, bowing to mademoiselle, "the financiers whose word can shake the money-markets of the world, and the politicians who unbend, perhaps, just a little in the sunshine here, however cold and inflexible they may be under their own austere skies.

For the last time, then--to Monte Carlo! To Monte Carlo, dear mademoiselle!--messieurs!" [Illustration: "For the last time, then--to Monte Carlo!"] They drank the toast and a few minutes later Hunterleys slipped away.
The two men looked after him.