It was covered with ivy, carefully trimmed where the rows of square-paned windows broke the front, and its long, narrow door was surmounted by the conventional classic design of skulls and garlands. As Miss Page crossed the road towards the post-office one morning late in September, Mrs. Dakin tapped at the window of the breakfast-room, and then ran to the door. Anne smiled as she crossed the threshold. “Why, Madge, what is it? You look radiant, my dear!” “I am. I mean I feel radiant. Come in. Do come in. I want to tell you.” Her voice shook with suppressed excitement, as Anne followed her across the stone-flagged hall to a room on the right. “I’m going to Paris for a long visit!” she exclaimed, drawing up a chair for her friend close to the window. “What do you think of that?” “I didn’t know you had friends in Paris.” “Oh yes. Didn’t I ever tell you about Helen Didier? She was one of my school-fellows at the convent near Tours, where I went for a year. She married a Frenchman.” “And she lives in Paris?” “Yes. I haven’t seen her for ages--scarcely once since we both married. But I took it into my head to write to her a week or two ago, and just fancy! You’ll be awfully interested. She knows Monsieur Fontenelle quite well. Her husband is a friend of his.” Anne looked up rather quickly. “Really?” “Yes. Isn’t it strange? I happened to mention him when I wrote to her, and she knew all about him. She would, naturally, as he’s such a great man; but it’s awfully exciting that he should be a friend, isn’t it?” “What does Harry say?” asked Anne. “Oh, he doesn’t mind. He says it will do me good to have a change.” “He will miss you horribly, my dear.” She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s so busy, you know. And when he’s at home, he’s always buried in his books. Besides, he knows I must have a change. My nerves get worse and worse, and I’m always having neuralgia. I sleep badly, too.” “You mustn’t look so brilliant, then,” returned Anne, laughing. “You’ll be considered a fraud.” “It’s nothing but joy,” Madge declared. “You know I’ve never been to Paris. And just think of getting out of this hole for two or three months, perhaps. I could scream with excitement at the bare idea!” “When do you go?” “Next month. I shall be awfully interested to meet Monsieur Fontenelle again,” she added. “He’s so clever, isn’t he? I’m rather afraid of him. I envy you for getting on with him so well.” Anne smiled. “Why has he never been to see you before?” “He’s not often in England now, though he travels a great deal, and is very cosmopolitan.” “How on earth has he learnt to speak English so perfectly?” “He has English relations--Lady Farringchurch is one of them. And as a young man he studied over here with a friend. But in any case he’s a wonderful linguist naturally.”