Now the book and the several monographs he had already gotten out had been, although very interesting, strictly scientific; they could appeal only to students and scholars. But these papers were entirely different. Scientific enough, very clear and lucid and most quaintly flavored with what Laurence called Flintishness, they were so well received, and the response of the reading public to this fresh and new presentment of an ever-fascinating subject was so immediate and so hearty, that the Butterfly Man found himself unexpectedly confronting a demand he was hard put to it to supply. He was very much more modest about this achievement than we were. My mother's pride was delicious to witness. You see, it also invested _me_ with a very farsighted wisdom! Here was it proven to all that Father De Rancé had been right in holding fast to the man who had come to him in such sorry plight. I suppose it was this which moved Madame to take the step she had long been contemplating. Knowing her Butterfly Man, she began with infinite wile. "Armand," said she, one bright morning in early November, "_I_ am going to entertain, too--everybody else has done so, and now it's my turn. The weather is so ideal, and my garden so gorgeous with all those chrysanthemums and salvias and geraniums and roses, that it would be sinful not to take advantage of such conditions. "I have saved enough out of my house-money to meet the expenses--and I am _not_ going to be charitable and do my Christian duty with that money! I'm going to entertain. I really owe that much attention to Mary Virginia." She laid her hand on my arm. "I must see John Flint; go over to his rooms, and bring him back with you." I thought she merely needed his help and counsel, for she is always consulting him; she considers that whatever barque is steered by John Flint must needs come home to harbor. He obeyed her summons with alacrity, for it delights him to assist Madame. He did not know what fate overshadowed him! My mother sat in her low rocker, a lace apron lending piquancy to her appearance. She looked unusually pretty--there wasn't a girl in Appleboro who didn't envy Madame De Rancé's complexion. "Well," said the Butterfly Man cheerfully, unconsciously falling under the spell of this feminine charm, "the Padre tells me there's a party in the wind. Good! Now what am I to do? How am I to help you out?" My mother leaned forward and compelled him to meet direct her eyes that were friendly and clear and candid as a child's. "Mr. Flint," said she artlessly, ignoring his questions, "Mr. Flint, you've been with Armand and me quite a long time now, have you not?" "A couple of lifetimes," said he, wonderingly. "A couple of lifetimes," she mused, still holding his eyes, "is a fairly long time. Long enough, at least, to know and to be known, shouldn't you think?" He awaited enlightenment. He never asks unnecessary questions.