They had a set of rooms in a hotel in the Champs Elysées with a balcony overlooking the Grande Avenue. Clytie loved to sit there with Thornton in the quiet half hour before dinner watching the stream of vehicles, fine and vague far away by the Arc de Triomphe, then gradually broadening, till fashionable Paris returning from the Bois blazed beneath her in its movement and gaiety. They seemed to her so alone up there, above the whirl and the glitter and falseness. It was a return of the hours of the month in the south, and happiness fluttered tremulously around her--like a butterfly, ever so elusively. When she leaned over the balcony by his side many people looked up admiringly at them. When she saw one woman twitch the arm of her companion in a victoria, and both shoot swift feminine glances up at the balcony, she could not help feeling a little thrill of pride in her husband. And then she would remember the morning's solitary ramble among the sculpture of the Louvre (Thornton and herself were less dependent upon each other now for entertainment), and reflect, with a sense of pleasure, that she had seen no antique ideal that could compare with him in splendid manhood. He, too, had done heroic deeds, she would think, and she would move nearer to his side and be glad that he was there. Yet the butterfly happiness was just beyond her grasp. Some such thoughts were passing through her mind one afternoon as they stood together on the balcony. He broke a short silence by saying: “We are getting quite an old married couple, Clytie!” “What made you say that?” she asked, smiling. “Oh! I hardly know. I have got so used to having you by me. It seems as if I had been married ever since I was born.” “It does seem a long, long time ago that we first passed through Paris. But I can't say I am quite used to matrimony yet. Do you know, I have sometimes hoped that I never should be.” “Why?” “Can't you guess? At present, dear, it is all glamour and mystery, and when you get too familiar with the glamour it turns into the commonplace. That's why I am just a little bit sorry we left Bordighera.” “It was certainly very jolly,” he assented reflectively. “But we are having as good a time here, aren't we?” “Well, I like these little half hours best,” said Clytie, “when we are alone together. When we are parted it seems as if I am suddenly called upon to live as an individual and do not quite know how to begin. You see, when I am alone with you I know how to behave as Clytie Hammerdyke, but not yet when I am by myself or with other people.” Thornton laughed, as a man in love laughs when he thinks he is replying to an idle, pretty remark. “You have always Clytie Davenant to fall back upon,” he said. “Have I? That's just the question I have been putting to myself. But I can't explain it to you. I don't think you would understand.”