“I can give you the latest news of your wife,” he said almost before he was seated. “I saw her only yesterday. I called in fact to make my farewells.” “How is she?” inquired the doctor anxiously. It was the one question that concerned him. “Not altogether well, I fancy. A little homesick. Paris possibly a little on her nerves.” He took up the wine list. “Can we agree as to wine?” The doctor made a hasty gesture. “Anything you like. I’m on my way to bring her home,” he observed. Fontenelle, who was giving the waiter elaborate directions about warming the Burgundy he had selected, did not at once reply. When the man had hurried off with a _Bien Monsieur!_ he looked at his companion. “You are going to fetch her you say? Good! I think all she wants is the rest and quiet of your charming village. Paris is not the place for nervous women, doctor. The atmosphere is too exciting--too distracting.” He made a little comprehensive gesture with both hands. “But you don’t think she’s ill?” In spite of himself, in spite of his British horror of displaying emotion, the doctor’s voice shook a little. “_Mais non! Mais non. Rien de tout_,” returned his companion, with a reassuring smile. “Madame is suffering a little from her ‘cure.’ That is only to be expected. Pardon!” he laughed genially. “For the moment I forgot I was not speaking to a layman.” The doctor laughed also, and tried to forget that the mere mention of his wife’s name had set his heart beating. He applied himself to his dinner. “Did I understand that you’re going to leave Paris for long?” he asked. “I think you said you had been to say good-bye to Madge--to my wife?” “I’m really uncertain,” returned François, regarding him with keen smiling eyes. “I’m over here on business connected with the exhibition to which your countrymen with more politeness than discretion have elected me President. After that?” He shrugged his shoulders with a characteristic gesture. “I don’t know. A journey to Egypt, perhaps. But that depends on circumstances. Did I tell you that Miss Page is coming home? She may even be in Paris by this time. Mrs. Dakin is evidently looking forward to seeing her.” For a moment the doctor was silent. “Miss Page is an old friend of yours--a great friend?” he asked suddenly. “I think I may say my best and dearest friend.” At the mention of Anne’s name an imperceptible change crept into his manner. An undercurrent of irony, too subtle for his companion’s apprehension, vanished from his voice and from his words, which were grave and deliberate. “I might with truth repeat what you have said,” returned the doctor slowly. He took up his knife and fork, and absently replaced them on his plate, into which he stared, as though lost in thought. “And so,” said François, watching him, “you are naturally indignant about a certain story----” The other man looked up quickly.