"To-morrow morning," he said, with a friendly touch on my arm, "you shall have my answer." With this news then I returned to my comfortable quarters in John Turner's _appartement_ in the Avenue d'Antan. I found that great banker about to partake of luncheon, which was served to him at midday, after the fashion of the country of his adoption. During my walk across the river and through the gardens of the Tuileries--at that time at the height of their splendour--I had not reflected very deeply on the matter in hand. I had thought more of Mademoiselle de Clericy's bright eyes than aught else. "Good morning," said my host, whom I had not seen before going out. "Where have you been?" "To the Vicomte de Clericy's." "The devil you have! Then you are not so stolid as you look." And he laughed as he shook out his table napkin. His thought was only half with me, for he was looking at the menu. "Arcachon oysters!" he added; "the best in the world! I hate your bloated natives. Give me a small oyster." "Give me a dozen," I answered, helping myself from the dish at my elbow. "And did the Vicomte kick you downstairs?" asked my host, as he compounded in the dip of his plate a wonderful mixture of vinegar and spices. "No. He is going to consider my application, and will give me his answer to-morrow morning." John Turner set down the vinegar bottle and looked across the table at me with an expression of wonder on his broad face. "Well, I never! Did you see Madame? Clever woman, Madame. Gives excellent dinners." "Yes; I was presented to her." "Ah! A match for you, Mr. Dick. Did you notice her feet?" "I noticed that they were well shod." "Just so!" muttered John Turner, who was now engaged in gastronomic delights. "In France a clever woman is always _bien chaussee_. Her brains run to her toes. In England it is different. If a woman has a brain it undermines her morals or ruins her waist." "Only the plain women," suggested I, who had passed several seasons in London not altogether in vain. "A pretty woman is never clever--she is too wise," said John Turner, stolidly, and he sipped his chablis.