A true gourmet would probably shudder at such a first course, but it must be remembered that for three years my taste had had no opportunity of becoming over-trained. Besides, in matters of this sort I always act on the principle that it's better to enjoy oneself than to be artistically correct. Lying back in my chair I looked out over the little restaurant with a sensation of beautiful complacency. The soft rose-shaded lamps threw a warm glamour over everything, and through the delicate blue spirals of my cigarette I could just see the laughing face of a charmingly pretty girl who was dining with an elderly man at the opposite table. I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was close on eight--the hour when the cell lights at Princetown are turned out, and another dragging night of horror and darkness begins. Slowly and luxuriously I sipped my sherry and bitters. I was aroused from my reverie by the approach of M. Gaultier, who carried a menu in his hand. He handed me the card with another bow, and then stepped back as though to watch the result. This was the dinner: Clear soup. Grilled salmon. Lamb. New potatoes. Woodcock. Pêche Melba. Marrow on Toast. I read it through, enjoying each separate word, and then, with a faint sigh, handed it back to him. "Heaven," I said, "was undoubtedly at the conference." M. Gaultier picked up a wine list from the table. "And what will Monsieur drink?" he inquired reverently. "Monsieur," I replied, "has perfect faith in your judgment. He will drink everything you choose to give him." Half an hour later I again lay back in my chair, and lapped in a superb contentment gently murmured to myself those two delightful lines of Sydney Smith's-- "Serenely calm, the epicure may say: Fate cannot harm me, I have dined today." I sipped my Turkish coffee, lighted the fragrant Cabana which M. Gaultier had selected for me, and debated cheerfully with myself what I should do next. I had had so many unpleasant evenings since my trial that I was determined that this one at all events should be a complete success. My first impulse of course was to visit George. There was something very engaging in the thought of being ushered into his presence by a respectable butler, and making my excuses for having called at such an unreasonable hour. I pictured to myself how he would look as I gradually dropped my assumed voice, and very slowly the almost incredible truth began to dawn on him.