Across the shadow of the orange trees a large yellow butterfly came floating. Annette's eyes followed it. It settled on a crimson hibiscus, hanging like a flame against the pale stem of a coral tree. The two ardent colours quivered together in the vivid sunshine. Annette's grave eyes watched the yellow wings close and expand, close and expand, and then rise and float away again. "He seemed to fall in love with me," she said. "Of course now I know he didn't really; but he seemed to. And he was a real gentleman--not like father, nor that other one, the man who offered to teach me. He seemed honourable. He looked upright and honest and refined. And he was young--not much older than myself, and very charming-looking. He was unlike any of the people in the Quartier Latin. I fell in love with him after a little bit. At first I hung back, because I thought it was too good to be true, too like a fairy story. I had never been in love before. I fell in--very deep. And I was grateful to him for loving me, for he was much above me, the heir to something large and a title--I forget exactly what--when his old uncle died. I thought it was so kind of him not to mind the difference of rank.... I am sure you know what is coming. I suppose I ought to have known. But I didn't. I never thought of it. The day came when he asked me very gravely if I loved him, and I said I did, and he told me he loved me. I remember when I was in my room again alone, thinking that whatever life took from me, it could never take that wonderful hour. I should have that as a possession always, when I was old and white-headed. I am afraid now I _shall_ have it always." Annette passed her blue-veined hand over her eyes in a manner that would have outraged the other residents, and then went on:--