"Ah, my dear fellow, what was she like! She was the daughter of a rich merchant of Antwerp. A Belgian article! First a provincial, and then a foreigner! Papa doesn't like Parisians. Mamma was from Chatellerault, and she was indeed a saint. Number Two happened to be in Paris; so last night, at the Opera Comique, they showed me a Fleming, who was very blond, very insipid, very masculine--a Rubens, a true Rubens; a giantess, a colossal woman, a head taller than I, which is to say that materially one could not take her in a lower stage-box, and those are the only boxes I like. On leaving the theatre I told papa that I wouldn't have Number Two any more than Number One, and that I had had enough, and that I wouldn't see Number Three. The discussion was heated. Papa went off banging doors and repeating, 'No more money!' I saw that it was serious. I went to bed, but I couldn't sleep--I thought; but I could think of nothing to save me from the fat hands of the Antwerp girl. Suddenly, towards three in the morning, I had an inspiration--I had an idea that I can call, if you'll permit it, a stroke of genius." "I'll permit it." "Yes, genius. I knew that you left to-day for Marseilles, and this morning I departed, English fashion, without explanation, and in a little while, at the first stop, at Laroche--I have looked at the time-table, I have thought of everything--I shall send the following despatch to my father," and Raoul triumphantly pulled a paper out of his pocket. "It's all ready. Listen. 'M. Chamblard, 8 Rue Rougemont, Paris, Laroche station. I left on the express for Marseilles with Maurice. I am going to make a voyage around the world. I sha'n't be more than six months. I have engaged by telegraph a state-room on the _Traonaddy_ which leaves to-morrow for Singapore. Anything rather than a Flemish alliance! Farewell. With regrets for leaving you, your affectionate son, Raoul Chamblard.' My telegram's all right, isn't it?" "It isn't bad, but do you seriously mean--" "Yes, I shall go if, before I reach Marseilles, I haven't an answer from papa; but I shall have one, for two reasons. In the first place, Papa Chamblard knows how to reason, and he will say to himself: 'What shall I gain by it? Instead of fooling round with little white women in Paris, he will fool round with little yellow ones at Singapore.' And then another reason, the best one, is that Papa Chamblard adores me, and he can't do without me, and the little sentimental phrase at the end of my despatch will appeal to his heart. You'll see how it will turn out. At 11.20 my telegram will leave Laroche; papa will receive it at half-past twelve. And I'll bet you ten louis that at Dijon or Macon I'll find in the wire screen of the station a telegram addressed to me, and worded thus: 'Return; no longer question of Antwerp marriage.' Papa's telegram will be brief, because he is saving and suppresses unnecessary words. Will you take the bet?" "No, I should lose."