Nor did the marquise herself enlighten us further as to what she thought of Mignon's love affairs or Lemois' narrow matrimonial views. She had become suddenly intent on having the smashed villa pulled uphill and set on its legs again, with Marc as adviser and Le Blanc's friend, The Architect, as director-in-chief--an appointment which blew into thin air that gentleman's determination to put into dramatic form the new Robinson Crusoe of which Herbert had told us, with Goringe, the explorer, as star, the lady remarking sententiously that she had definite reasons for the restoration and wanted the work to begin at once and to continue with all possible speed. This last Le Blanc told us the next day when he returned in madame's motor, bringing with him an old friend of his--a tall, sunburned, grizzly bearded man of fifty, with overhanging eyebrows shading piercing brown eyes, firm, well-buttressed nose, a mouth like a ruled line--so straight was it--and a jaw which used up one-third of his face. When they entered Herbert was standing with his back to the room. An instant later the stranger had him firmly by the hand. "I heard you were here, Herbert," he cried joyously, "but could hardly believe it. By Jove! It's good to see you again! When was the last time, old man?--Borneo, wasn't it?--in that old shack outside the town, and those devils howling for all they were worth." Introductions over, he dropped into a chair, took a pipe from his pocket, and in a few minutes was as much a part of the coterie as if we had known him all his life: his credentials of accomplishment, of pluck, of self-sacrifice, of endurance and skill were accepted at sight; the hearty welcome he gave Herbert, and the way his eyes shone with the joy of meeting him, completing the last and most important requirement on our list--good-fellowship. That he had lived outside the restrictions of civilization was noticeable in his clothes, which were of an ancient cut and looked as if they had just been pulled out of a trunk where they had lain in creases for years, which was true, for during the past decade he had been acting Engineer-in-Chief of one section of the great dam on the Nile, and was now home on leave. He had, he told us, left London the week before, had crossed with his car at Dieppe, and was making a run down the coast by way of Trouville when he bumped into Le Blanc and, hearing Herbert was within reach, had made bold to drop in upon us. When Mignon and Leà had cleared the table, dinner being over, and the coffee had been served--and somehow the real talk always began after the coffee--for then Lemois was with us--Herbert looked at The Engineer long and searchingly, a covetous light growing in his eyes--the look of a housed sailor sniffing the brine on a comrade's reefer just in from the sea--and said dryly: "Are you glad to get home?"