They spoke of the theatre, and the last _bons mots_ about their _chères amies_--the last liasons--the last passions--They spoke of Gabrielle--her husband was killed last week--'So foolish of him, since one of Alice's 'friends' among the Ministers could easily have got him a soft job, and one must always help one's friends! Alice adored Gabrielle.--But he has left her well provided for--Gabrielle will look well in her crepe--and there it is, war is war--_Que voulez vous?_' "After all, will it be as agreeable if peace does come this summer?--One will be able to dance openly--that will be nice--but for the rest? It may be things will be more difficult--and there may be complications. One has been very well during the war--very well, indeed--_N'est ce pas ma cherie--n'est ce pas?_" Thus they talked. The widow's lover is married, Maurice tells me, and has been able to keep his wife safely down at their place in Landes, but if peace should come he must be _en famille_, and the wife can very well be disagreeable about the affair. The divorcée's three lovers will be in Paris at the same time. The married one's husband returned for good--"Yes, certainly, peace will have its drawbacks--The war knows its compensations--But considerable ones!" When they had departed, promising to return very soon--to dinner this time, and see all the "exquisite _appartement_," Burton came into the room to take away the tea things. His face was a mask as he swept up the cigarette ash, which had fallen upon the William and Mary English lac table, which holds the big lamp, then he carefully carried away the silver ash trays filled with the ends, and returned with them cleaned. Then he coughed slightly. "Shall I open the window, Sir Nicholas?" "It is a beastly cold evening." He put an extra log on the fire and threw the second casement wide. "You'll enjoy your dinner better now, Sir," he said, and left me shivering. * * * * * I wish I were a musician, I could play to myself. I have still my two hands, though perhaps my left shoulder hurts too much to play often. My one eye aches when I read for too long, and the stump below the knee is too tender still to fit the false leg on to, and I cannot, because of my shoulder, use my crutch overmuch, so walking is out of the question. These trifles are perhaps, the cause of my ennui with life.