If the interest excited at Pau was any criterion, every French soul in France went about his business with bulging eyes. Indeed, if Mr. Sycamore Tight were yet in the country, there was little doubt in most minds that his days were numbered. "No," said Berry. "It's very nice to think that I look so much like the brute, but I doubt if a check suit quite so startling as that he seems to have affected could be procured in time. Shall I go as Marat--on his way to the bath-room? With a night-shirt, a flannel, and a leer, I should be practically there. Oh, and a box of matches to light the geyser with." "I suppose," said Daphne, "you wouldn't go as a clown? Adèle and I could do that easily. The dress is nothing." "Is it, indeed?" said her husband. "Well, that would be simplicity itself, wouldn't it? A trifle classical, perhaps, but most arresting. What a scene there'd be when I took off my overcoat. 'Melancholy' would be almost as artless. I could wear a worried look, and there you are." "Could he go as a friar?" said Jill. "You know. Like a monk, only not so gloomy. We ought to be able to get a robe easily. And, if we couldn't get sandals, he could go barefoot." "That's right," said Berry. "Don't mind me. You just fix everything up, and tell me in time to change. Oh, and you might write down a few crisp blessings. I shall get tired of saying '_Pax vobiscum_' when anyone kicks my feet." "I tell you what," said Adèle. "Would you go as 'a flapper'?" "A what?" said my brother-in-law. "'A twentieth-century miss,'" said Adèle. "'The golf girl,' if you like. Daphne and I can fit you out, and you can wear your own shoes. As for a wig--any _coiffeur_'ll do. A nice fluffy bobbed one would be best--the same shade as your moustache." Instinctively none of us spoke. The idea was so admirable--the result would be so triumphant, that we hardly dared to breathe lest Berry should stamp upon our hopes. For one full slow-treading minute he fingered his chin.... Then he wrinkled his nose. "Not 'The Golf Girl,'" he said. "That's much too pert. I couldn't deliver the goods. No. I must go as something more luscious. What about 'The Queen of the May'?" * * * * * At twenty-five minutes to ten that evening I was writing a note, and wondering, while I did so, whether the original 'Incroyables' ever sat down. I had just decided that, rather than continually risk dislocation of the knee, they probably either reclined or leaned against pillars when fatigued, when something impelled me to glance over my shoulder. Framed in the doorway was standing Berry.