“You want a cake, do you!” she waved her hand above a tray of cream pastries, surrounded by green “cauliflowers” of almond flavor. Her black eyes took in his appearance as she cried her wares. “Here are tartlets, choufleur. Choose what you will!” Humphrey felt an odd mixture of emotion as he stood there with his back to Lisle. Lisle was a large part of his adventure, and his chief reason for staying on in Paris. He had never forgotten the sight of the boy on top of the spinner’s cart, waving his cap and shouting for the king. He had been sent to be his friend. The little incident that occurred when he had let Lisle go his way, after he had rescued him, had made him sure of it. He had watched Lisle and seen him stop and start back, then pause uncertainly and go on again. Something in the action touched Humphrey’s big heart. The boy had needed his counsel, but his pride and independence had forbidden his asking it. Since then Humphrey had gone each night and stood for an hour in the shadow of the wall at the side of the great house of the Saint Frères. “What cakes will you choose? My time is not forever at your disposal,” the bakery woman said impatiently. Lisle regarded the cakes soberly. “I want something simple for a little girl,” he repeated. “I have just the thing, a plain sponge with white icing. You shall see.” The woman moved away to reach the cakes at the back of a shelf just behind her. Lisle turned round and, seeing Humphrey Trail, at once gave him a smile of greeting. Humphrey made no sign of recognition. The woman returned with the cakes saying: “They are three sous apiece. How many?” Lisle answered, “I wish to have three.” He put his hand in the pocket of his rough over-jacket and, drawing forth some coins, counted out the desired amount and handed it to the woman. When she had given him the small package he went out. Without waiting to buy his cake, Humphrey Trail followed him. Humphrey was angry as he walked out of the bakery shop. They were a little in awe of him at home in the farmlands when his easy-going temper was aroused. He came up to Lisle and spoke to him without ceremony. “Th’ art mad, lad, I tell thee, to buy cakes at a shop where spies eat and there are eyes in every corner. Th’ art a poor fool at play actin’ with tha soft speech and ways. Get tha home and, for tha mother’s sake, stay within tha house!” They had walked slowly along the crowded rue Royale. Lisle turned and looked at his companion and suddenly he smiled. “I like you, Humphrey Trail,” he said. Humphrey felt his temper cooling, and as they turned into a quieter street he slackened his pace. Nothing could have happened more timely than Humphrey’s losing his temper. Had there been any vestige of suspicion as to Humphrey’s sincerity in Lisle’s mind, it vanished forever with his honest scolding. “I like tha well myself, lad, but see that tha ken sense with tha manly ways,” Humphrey said in answer.