"One instant, my beautiful," whispered Monsieur Hector. "When do I come to see La Grande Chouette?" "Oh, I had forgotten,--to-morrow," said Justine. "_Cette chere_ picture!" said Hector, taking a photograph from over the little stove and kissing it, "remains with me for ever. But stay," he said, addressing the real instead of the image. "Behold a little packet which I prepare for my beautiful--tooth-powder for her beauteous teeth; scent of the best, but not so sweet as her gentle breath; soap for her soft skin. Ah, sweet soap, sweet soap! if I were only you to be pressed in her hands," he added, kissing it, and then presenting his offerings to his goddess, who received them like a deity, and held out one hand for him to kiss, with which he was apparently quite content. Then he struck a table gong, and evidently conveyed by it due notice to his assistant that he had devoted sufficient time to the new client, who shortly after came out, closely veiled, took Justine's arm, and the waxen lady had one glance at her, while the waxen gentleman looked more mysterious than ever, as he watched her till she was out of sight. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. LADY BARMOUTH RECEIVES INFORMATION. "Maude, I will not allow it," cried Lady Barmouth, one morning. "That wretched organ man is always haunting this house, and you are constantly giving him money." "The poor fellow is a foreigner and in distress, and he does no harm," said Maude. "No harm? He distracts me with his dreadful noise." "Plays that tune from _Trovatore_ where the fellow's shut up rather nicely," said his lordship, rubbing his leg. "Barmouth!" "Yes, my dear." "Be quiet. And mind this, Maude, I have given instructions to the servants that this dreadful Italian is to be sent away." "Very well, mamma," said Maude, coldly, "only be fair--send every man away who comes to the house. Be consistent in what you do." "Is the girl mad?" exclaimed Lady Barmouth. "What does she mean?" "I mean, mamma," cried Maude, with spirit, "that I will not--I cannot marry Sir Grantley Wilters." "Maude, you'll break my heart," cried her ladyship. "Tom, this is your fault for bringing that wicked young man to the house." "What--Wilters?" "No, no, no, my boy," said his lordship, rubbing his leg. "Your mamma means Charley Melton, and I--I--I--damme, I can't understand it all about him. I'm sure I--I--I--don't think he's so bad as he's being painted." Maude darted a look of gratitude towards him, and then one of reproach at her brother, who stood biting his nails. "Barmouth, will you leave that leg alone," cried her ladyship. "You give me the creeps; and if you cannot talk sensibly, hold your tongue. Everybody knows, even Tom, if he would only speak, that this man--pah! I cannot utter his name--is degraded to the utmost degree; but he has managed to play upon a foolish girl'os heart, and she is blind to his wickedness."