All through the dinner the marquise made no further reference to the love affair, although I could see that it was still on her mind, for when Mignon entered and began moving about the room in her demure, gentle way, her lids lowered, her pretty head and throat aglow in the softened light, I saw that she was following her every gesture. Once, when the girl replenished her plate, the woman of birth, as if by accident, laid her fingers on the serving-woman's wrist, and then there flashed out of her eyes one of those sympathetic glances which only a tender-hearted woman can give, and which only another woman, no matter how humble her station, can fully understand. It was all done so quickly and so deftly that I alone noticed it, as well as the answering look in Mignon's eyes: full of such gratitude and reverence that I started lest she should betray herself and thus spoil it all. With the coffee and cigarettes--madame refusing any brand but her own--"I dry every bit of my tobacco myself," she offered in explanation, "and roll every cigarette I smoke"--we settled ourselves in pleased expectation, Herbert, as usual, in the Florentine; our guest of honor beside a small table which Lemois had moved up for her comfort, and on which he had placed a box of matches and an ashtray; Brierley stretched out on the sofa with a cushion at his back; Lemois on a low stool by the fire; Louis and I with chairs drawn close. Even the big back log, which had been crooning a song of the woods all the evening, ceased its hum as if to listen, while overhead long wraiths of tobacco smoke drifted silently, dimming the glint and sparkle of copper, brass, and silver that looked down at us from the walls. "And now, madame," said Herbert with a smile, when both Leà and Mignon had at last left the room, "you were good enough to say you had a story for us." "No," she answered gayly. "It is not for you. It is for our dear Lemois here," and she shook her head at him in mock reproval. "You are all too fine and splendid, every one of you. You keep houses from tumbling to pieces and rescue lovers and do no end of beauteous things. He goes about cutting and slashing heads and hearts, and never cares whom he hurts." Lemois rose from his seat, put his hand on his shirt-front--a favorite gesture of his--bowed humbly, and sat down again. "Yes, I mean it," she cried with a toss of her head, "and I have just been telling these gentlemen that I am going to put a stop to it just as soon as I can find out whether this young hero with the broken head is worth the saving, and that I shall decide the moment I get my eyes on him. Pass me my coffee, Lemois, and give me my full share of sugar--three lumps if you please--and put four into your own to sweeten your temper, for you will need them all before I get through.