He sang on in a low tone, and began to comb some of Lady Barmouth's falsities, and while he combed he smiled, and when Monsieur Hector smiled he was making plans. "_Vive les conspirateurs_!" he cried; and then prepared for his primitive repast. Being a bachelor at present, he cooked for himself behind a little screen over a gas-stove; sometimes it was food, sometimes strange cosmetiques and chemical preparations for beautifying his clients. This day it was food preparation, and, manipulated by Monsieur Hector, one kidney became a wonderful dish, swimming in gravy. Tiny bits of meat reappeared brown and appetising: and he was great upon soup, which he made with half a pint of water, some vegetables, and a disc cut off what seemed to be so much glue in a sausage skin. But he lived well upon a small income, and partook of grand salads, water _souchees_ made of one herring, _biftek-aux-pommes, cafe, eau sucree_, and cigarette. One gas-burner cooked, boiled, and stewed, and his cleanliness and saving ways enabled him to afford his game at billiards; and to pass for a Parisian of the first water under a political cloud. "Ah!" he said, as he smoked his one cigarette, "when will he return with a letter for his beloafed? Soon. But stop--what is a letter to a meeting? Ha, ha! I have a plan. Wait till he come once more, and then--ha, ha! how la Justine will laugh! _Vive l'amour_. "Yes, the ruse, one that your foggy head, ros-bif Anglais could never devise, but which I, Hector of the sunny France, threw off at once. Oorai, as we say in thees deesmal country. _Vive l'amour_. One--two-- three days; when will he come? Any veek, and then--_vive l'amour_." CHAPTER THIRTEEN. SIR GRANTLEY IS AGITATED. Lady Barmouth was in great trouble, and resembled more strongly than ever the heaving billows. She had been so agitated several times lately that she had found it necessary to take medicinally red lavender drops, or else eau de Cologne, the latter by preference for its fragrance. She was terribly troubled, for matters had not gone so satisfactorily as she could wish. There had been a death in Sir Grantley Wilters' family, and that gentleman had been unwell too, thanks to a fresh medicine man he had tried. "And really," said her ladyship, "that ungrateful child Maude does not show the slightest sympathy." "Fool if she did," said Tom, who was in the drawing-room. "What's that fellow Bellman been here for again?" "To see Tryphie, of course," said her ladyship. Tom was about to make some angry reply, when Maude came in with Lord Barmouth leaning upon her arm, fresh from a walk, and Sir Grantley Wilters, most carefully got up in deep mourning, following behind with Tryphie. "Now I appeal to your ladyship," said Sir Grantley, as soon as the door was closed.