“Not at all. I am obliged to do something of the sort owing to financial difficulties which have suddenly arisen.” “Tch-tch-tch! How very provoking.” It was noticeable, however, that the brow of M. le Patron had clouded, and his sympathy was not wholly genuine. Wynne, however, was paying more attention to himself than to the attitude of his hearer. “What I was about to suggest is this. Encouraged by your words of a month ago, I am willing to occupy a table at your café each night, and to discourse upon all the burning questions of the day. In return for this small service and the undoubted credit it will bring to the establishment, I put forward that you should offer me the hospitality of free meals and a trifle of twenty francs a week for my expenses.” He delivered the speech with an air of cordiality and condescension designed to introduce the offer in the most favourable light. Hearing his words as he spoke them there remained small doubt in his mind that the astute Frenchman would embrace the opportunity with gratitude. In this, however, he was sadly at fault. “M’sieur is an original,” came the answer; “but he can hardly be serious.” “I am entirely serious.” “Then I fear that, with due regret, I must decline.” “Decline? But—but the notion was originally your own. I should not have suggested it had it not been that you—” “Pardon, m’sieur, I see the fault was mine, and my words evidently placed m’sieur under a misapprehension. He will readily perceive, however, that, as patron, it is my duty to be affable, and, although it desolates me to confess so much, it has been my long habit to express to all my more loquacious guests precisely the same sentiments which I addressed to m’sieur on the evening of which he spoke.” “Oh! has it?” said Wynne, rather dully. “Then there’s no more to be said.” “Alas! no. It is sad, but what would you? Au revoir, m’sieur.” “Au ’voir.” He moved a pace away, then turned. “I suppose you haven’t any sort of job you could offer me?” “Unhappily!” said the patron, and turned to welcome a new arrival. “I shan’t give up,” muttered Wynne, as he walked moodily down the busy boulevard. “After all, it was only a first attempt.” But he did not sleep very easily that night. He lay with his eyes open in the dark and wondered what would befall him—where he would be in a week’s time—if what Benoit had said were true. These and a thousand perplexing fears and fancies raced and jostled through his brain. Presently one big thought rose and dominated all the rest. “I mustn’t forget any of this. It is all valuable—all part of the lesson—part of the training—part of the price which a climber has to pay.” Then he thought of The Cedars, and of Wallace setting forth to the City after a “good” breakfast.