"You are dead right, Herbert; you are, anyhow, about the Milo. I never go into her presence without lifting my hat, and I have kept it up for years. But you don't do yourself justice, old man. Some of your things will live as long as they hold together. However"--and he laughed knowingly--"that's for posterity to settle. How does madame appeal to me? you ask. Well, being a many-sided woman--no frills, no coquetry, nor sham--she appeals to me more as a comrade than in any other way--just plain comrade. Half the women one meets of her age and class have something of themselves to conceal, giving you a side which they are not, or trying to give it for you to read at first sight. She gave us her worst side first--or what we thought was her worst side--and her best last." "And you, Le Blanc?" resumed Herbert. "She's your countrywoman; let's have it." "Oh, I don't know, Herbert. I, of course, have heard of her for years, and she was therefore not so much of a surprise to me as she was to you all. If, however, you want me to get down to something fundamental, I'll tell you that she confirms a theory I have always had that--But I won't go into that. It's our last night together and we----" "No; go on. This interests me enormously, especially her personality. We'll have our nightcap later on." "Well, all right," and he squared himself toward Herbert. "She confirms, as I said, a theory of mine--one I have always had, that the Great Art--that for which the world is waiting--is not so much the creation of statues, if you will pardon me, as the creation of a better understanding of women by men. Not of their personalities, but of their impersonalities. Most women are afraid to let themselves go, not knowing how we will take them, and because of this fear we lose the best part of a woman's nature. She dares not do a great many generous things--sane, kindly, human things--because she is in dread of being misunderstood. She is even afraid to love some of us as intensely as she would. Madame dares everything and could never be misunderstood. All doubts of her were swept out in her opening sentence the night she arrived. She ought to found a school and teach women to be themselves, then we'd all be that much happier." "And now, Louis," persisted Herbert, "come, we're waiting. No shirking, and no nonsense. Just the plain truth. How does she appeal to you?" "As a dead game sport, Herbert, and the best ever! Every man on his feet and I'll give you a toast that is as short and sweet as her adorable self. "Here's to our friend, Madame la Marquise de la Caux--THE WOMAN." XV APPLE-BLOSSOMS AND WHITE MUSLIN