Suddenly my companion stopped, pressing my arm with the liveliest emotion. “La voilà, la voilà, the prettiest!” he quickly murmured; “coming toward us in a blue dress with the other.” It was at the other I was looking, for the other, to my surprise, was our interesting fellow pensioner, the daughter of the most systematic of mothers. M. Pigeonneau meanwhile had redoubled his transports—he had recognised Miss Ruck. “Oh la belle rencontre, nos aimables convives—the prettiest girl in the world in effect!” And then after we had greeted and joined the young ladies, who, like ourselves, were walking arm in arm and enjoying the scene, he addressed himself to the special object of his admiration, Mees Roque. “I was citing you with enthusiasm to my young friend here even before I had recognised you, mademoiselle.” “I don’t believe in French compliments,” remarked Miss Sophy, who presented her back to the smiling old man. “Are you and Miss Ruck walking alone?” I asked of her companion. “You had better accept M. Pigeonneau’s gallant protection, to say nothing of mine.” Aurora Church had taken her hand from Miss Ruck’s arm; she inclined her head to the side and shone at me while her open parasol revolved on her shoulder. “Which is most improper—to walk alone or to walk with gentlemen that one picks up? I want to do what’s most improper.” “What perversity,” I asked, “are you, with an ingenuity worthy of a better cause, trying to work out?” “He thinks you can’t understand him when he talks like that,” said Miss Ruck. “But I _do_ understand you,” she flirted at me—“always!” “So I’ve always ventured to hope, my dear Miss Ruck.” “Well, if I didn’t it wouldn’t be much loss!” cried this young lady. “Allons, en marche!” trumpeted M. Pigeonneau, all gallant urbanity and undiscouraged by her impertinence. “Let us make together the tour of the garden.” And he attached himself to Miss Ruck with a respectful elderly grace which treated her own lack even of the juvenile form of that attraction as some flower of alien modesty, and was ever sublimely conscious of a mission to place modesty at its ease. This ill-assorted couple walked in front, while Aurora Church and I strolled along together. “I’m sure this is more improper,” said my companion; “this is delightfully improper. I don’t say that as a compliment to you,” she added. “I’d say it to any clinging man, no matter how stupid.” “Oh I’m clinging enough,” I answered; “but I’m as stupid as you could wish, and this doesn’t seem to me wrong.” “Not for you, no; only for me. There’s nothing that a man can do that’s wrong, is there? _En morale_, you know, I mean. Ah, yes, he can kill and steal; but I think there’s nothing else, is there?” “Well, it’s a nice question. One doesn’t know how those things are taken till after one has done them. Then one’s enlightened.” “And you mean you’ve never been enlightened? You make yourself out very good.”