A part of one of these days we spent viewing a performance in Mentone. Another day Barfleur and I went to Laghet and Nice, beginning with a luncheon at the Riviera Palace and winding up at the Hôtel des Fleurs. The last day we were in the Casino, gambling cheerfully for a little while, and then on the terrace viewing the pigeon shooting, which Barfleur persistently refused to contemplate. This (to me) brutal sport was evidently fascinating to many, for the popping of guns was constant. It is so curious how radically our views differ in this world as to what constitutes evil and good. To Scorp this was a legitimate sport. The birds were ultimately destined for pies anyhow; why not kill them here in this manner? To me the crippling of the perfect winged things was a crime. I would never be one to hold a gun in such a sport. It was this last day in the Café de Paris that Barfleur and I encountered Marcelle and Mme. Y., our companions of that first dinner in Paris. Barfleur was leaving for London, Scorp was to stay on at Monte Carlo, and for the first time I faced the prospect of traveling alone. Acting on impulse I turned to Marcelle and said: “Come with me as far as Ventimiglia,” never thinking for a moment that she would. “_Oui_,” she replied, “_oui, oui_,” and seemed very cheerful over the prospect. Marcelle arrived some fifteen minutes before my train was due, but she was not to speak to me until we were on the train. It took some manœuvering to avoid the suspicions of Scorp.