The Vicomte again examined it. “The Luxembourg has made a good choice,” he repeated. “It’s a beautiful thing, _mon cher_. Gracious, dignified, sweet--but sad. In spite of the smile, because of it, I suppose, profoundedly sad. But why? She was not, she is not a sad woman.” François was moving about the room, rearranging the canvases against the wall. “She was sad then.” The Vicomte waited, but François said no more, and the conversation turned upon other matters. As he rose to go, he stooped to examine a little sketch propped up on the top of a cabinet, against the wall. “That’s rather nice,” he remarked critically. “It’s the little woman I met here the other day, isn’t it? Dark. Pretty. English. Who is she?” “A Mrs. Dakin. By the way, she’s one of Anne Page’s friends. One of the people in her village. She’s staying here with Madame Didier.” “Louis Didier’s wife? Did they know her then?” asked his friend quickly. “Who? Anne? No. It was all ages before their time. Louis has only been in Paris five or six years.” “So much the better. That woman’s a cat, _mon cher_. Sleek fur, claws and all.” “Madame Didier? I agree,” returned François with a laugh. “The typical English devotee of Mrs. Grundy. Louis goes in mortal fear of her.” “_Tant pis!_” exclaimed the Vicomte, with an accent of commiseration. X Towards the middle of December, Mrs. Carfax became possessed with the idea of going to London. Various circumstances had combined to render her projected visit pleasurably fraught with interest. There was shopping to be done, of course. There was also Sylvia to embrace;--Sylvia whose holidays were so short that she herself had suggested the advisability of staying in town for Christmas, in order not to interrupt her work. Naturally Mrs. Carfax was anxious to see her child. Naturally also she looked forward to staying with the Lovells, who were old friends, and had a comfortable house in Bayswater. Then too, she had been deeply interested to hear that the niece who was visiting Mrs. Lovell, was none other than the Madame Didier who had invited Mrs. Dakin to Paris. Mrs. Dakin had not yet returned to Dymfield, and it was natural and neighbourly of Mrs. Carfax to feel as much interest in her protracted absence, as that which palpitated in every Dymfield breast. In a few days she would be in the position of knowing all that Madame Didier knew about her late guest. And then there was Sylvia of course, and the shopping, and the delight of meeting her dear friends the Lovells. Mrs. Carfax was quite determined to go. “I shall take the three o’clock train this afternoon,” she announced to the Vicar at breakfast time, “and send a telegram to Laura. She is quite ready for me, and urges me to come at once.” “Very well, my dear,” agreed the Vicar. “Please yourself of course, though I scarcely think it necessary. You were in town only three months ago.”