“The mansion is at present owned by a respectable family who also do trustworthy washing. A polite, well-informed attendant is always ready to show the premises on payment of a moderate fee of 35 centimes, (3½ d.) Although no part of the regular excursion, the liberal time allowed by Messrs. Sculry & Co., for rest and refreshment in Drignan, will enable excursionists to visit this shrine of deathless romance.” The Manager took the amended proof back, and read it admiringly. “By Jove, Egg!” he said; “that does it to the Queen’s taste! An attraction like that, and not a penny’s expense to the concern! I suppose, of course, really and truly, it’s all Tommy-rot?” [Illustration] “I suppose so,” said Mr. Egg, pleasantly. “Never was any such business, I suppose,” went on the Manager. “I don’t believe it, myself,” said Mr. Egg, shaking his head sagely. “Well,” said the Manager, “it’s all right for business, so far as the Avignon tour is concerned. And, oh! I say, Egg, I don’t suppose you _could_ keep permanently straight, could you?” “At my time of life,” said Mr. Egg, blandly, “a gentleman’s habits are apt to be fixed.” “I suppose so,” sighed the Manager. “Well, all the same, the London office was very much pleased with the last job you did, Egg, and they have authorized me, at my discretion, to increase your honorarium. We’ll make it a shilling a page, beginning with the present.” When Mr. Vincent Egg reached the street, he looked at the unexpected pile of wealth in his hand. “This is a three weeks’ go at elysium,” said he to himself; “such as I haven’t had in many a year. And, so far as I am concerned, it is the Fruit of Falsification, and the Wage of Sin.” But when Mr. Egg next awoke from his period of slumber in M. Morel’s back-room, and stretched himself upon the hard cushion of the red velvet divan, throngs of gawking tourists were trying to steep themselves in sentiment as they gazed about the old room off the rue des Quatres Mulets, and looked over the wall at the faded orange and olive trees, and listened to the story which Virginie told, like a talking-doll, and dropped into her hand a welcome stream of copper or silver, according as they were English or Americans. [Illustration] THE GHOOLLAH.