He had hardly got rid of the reporters, when Delanoue and Vibert broke in with an incoherent account of their adventures. They were both drunk and decidedly tired. While Walter was shaving, Delanoue fell asleep on his bed, Vibert on his lounge. And they were not quiet about it. The coffee went cold in Walter's cup. What should he do? It was impossible to spend the morning listening to uneasy grunts and snores. Where should he go? On previous visits to Paris he had enjoyed himself. He knew many people. But he did not feel that they would amuse him this time. Anyhow it was too early to make calls. His coffee was hopelessly cold. He was trying to overcome his listlessness and ring for more, when the _chasseur_ brought him a _petit bleue_ and the announcement that a new swarm of reporters wanted to see him. "Hello, hello, Mr. Walter Longman," the _pneumatique_ ran. "The morning papers announce your advent. Come around for dejeuner. By all means come. I'll lock the door. I warrant the newspaper men are hounding you. If you are one half as agreeable as you used to be, you'll rescue from the very bottom of boredom an unfortunate woman who signs herself Your friend BEATRICE MAYNARD KARNER." Walter had hardly thought of Mrs. Karner since leaving America. But five minutes after he had torn open the despatch, he had dodged the reporters and was out on the sidewalk. It was his intention to call a taxi and go at once to Mrs. Karner's, but he realized abruptly that it was much too early. He had an hour and a half to kill before time for dejeuner. He sat down in one of the Boulevard Cafés and tried to interest himself in the papers. But once more the ugly mood came to him. He let his coffee grow cold again. He sat there glowering at an indefinite spot on the polished floor--wondering dully if there was any further interest left for him in life. He felt so unsocial that he gave up the idea of going to Mrs. Karner's. He would be bored. But as lunch time approached he became disturbed at the idea of eating alone. Certainly anybody's company would be better than his own. Mrs. Karner welcomed him gayly. She seemed bent on being merry. There was a subtle change in her manner of dressing. She was less of a _grande dame_ than she had been in New York. She was feeling her way back to her youth. There was a dash of reckless uncertainty in her manner as of a boy at the beginning of his vacation or a convict just released. "How I envy you all the excitement you've been having! Tell me about it." He had just started to reply when dejeuner was announced and they went out to the dining-room. He hardly remembered what they talked about--details of the Expedition mostly. But when the meal was ended and they went back to the salon, Mrs. Karner stretched out on a _chaise longue_ and he sat down on the ottoman by the open fire. A constraint fell on them. For lack of a better remark he said-- "I've a pocket full of choice Caucasian cigarettes. Won't you try one?"