Mr Davison saw Mdlle. de Fontanes home. Under the circumstances he could scarcely help it. When a lady is alone--we need not lay stress on such incidentals as youth and beauty--where is the man who would not proffer her his escort through the perils of the midnight streets? The night was fine, the breeze was warm; they lingered first in the gardens of the _établissement_ to look upon the sea. Then they strolled gently through the Boulogne streets. They had told each other tales--unspoken tales--by the time they reached the Rue des Anges, but perhaps she understood his tale better than he did hers. The lady paused. She addressed her cavalier,-- "This is our apartment. I am afraid my father will scold me." "Scold you! Why?" "You see, I am all he has, and so--I wait upon his pleasure. I am so seldom away from him that, when I am, even for a little time, he misses me. But will you not come in? Perhaps your presence may save me from my scolding." Mr Davison was not in the mood, nor was he the man, to say "No" to such an invitation. He went in to save her from her scolding. They found the old gentleman in the _salon_, seated, in solitary state, in front of a table on which were a couple of packs of cards. His manner in greeting his daughter was more than a trifle acid. "Well? You have come! It is good of you, upon my honour. I have not waited quite two hours--yet." "I am so sorry." She put her arms about his neck, her soft cheek against his rough one. He disengaged himself from her embrace. "Permit me! I am not in the vein!" "Father, you see that Mr Davison is here. Mr Davison, my father is justly angry with me. I have kept him waiting two hours for his _écarté_." Mr Davison advanced to the old gentleman with outstretched hand. "Let me pay forfeit in Mdlle. de Fontanes' stead: play with me." The old gentleman touched the extended palm with the end of his frigid fingers. He looked the speaker up and down. "Do you play _écarté?_" "I ought to; I have played it my whole life long." "Then," said the old man, with beautiful irony, "you should be a foeman worthy of my steel." They sat down. But the young lady did not seem easy. "Is it not too late to play to-night? I am already guilty of detaining Mr Davison." Mr Davison repudiated the idea with scorn. "Too late! Why, sometimes I sit up playing cards the whole night long." "After that," murmured the old man softly, "what has one left to say?" They played, if not all night, at least until the tints of dawn were brightening the sky. The stakes were trifling, but, even so, if one never wins, one may lose--in time. When Mr Davison rose to go he had lost all his ready money and seventeen pounds besides. This he was to bring to-morrow, when he was to have his revenge. Mdlle. de Fontanes let him out. In the hall, before she opened the door, she spoke to him. "I wish you would promise me not to play with my father again." "Promise you! But why?"