"_Eh bien, mes enfants_, you have come to amuse yourselves, eh? I too, in the company of my excellent friend Bubu le Vainqueur, whose acquaintance together with that of his fair companions I would not advise you to cultivate." "But Master," I gasped, "what has happened?" "I'll veil it, my son," said he, laying his hand on my shoulder, "in the decent obscurity of a learned language, '_Canis reversus ad suum vomitum et sus lota in volutabro luti_.'" "_Oh, mon Dieu_," sighed Blanquette again, as if it were something too appalling. "But why, Master?" I entreated. "Why wallow? Why not? And now, my little Blanquette, we will all go home and you shall make me some good coffee. Or do you want to stay longer and dance with Asticot?" "Oh, let us go away, Master," said Blanquette, casting a scared glance at Bubu le Vainqueur, who was watching us with an interested air. "_Allons_," said Paragot, blandly. The dance stopped, and the thirsty crowd surged to the gallery. We threaded our way towards the door, and I thought with burning cheeks that the eyes of the whole assembly were turned to my master's mud-caked silk hat. It was a relief to escape from the noise and gas-light of the _bal_, which had suddenly lost its glamour, into the cool and quiet street. After we had walked a few yards in silence, he hooked his arms in Blanquette's and mine, and broke into a loud laugh. "But it is astonishing, the age of you children! You might be fifty, each of you, and I your little boy whom you had discovered in an act of naughtiness and were bringing home! Really are you as displeased with me _à ce point-là? C'est épatant_! But laugh, my little Blanquette, are you not glad to see me?" "But yes, Master," said Blanquette. "It is like a dream." "And you, Asticot of my heart?" "I find it a dream too. I can't understand. When did you leave Melford?" "About five days ago. I would tell you the day of the week, if I had the habit of exactness." "And Madame de Verneuil?" "Is very well, thank you." After this rebuff I asked no more questions. I remarked that the weather was still cold. Paragot laughed again. "He has turned into a nice little bourgeois, hasn't he, Blanquette? He knows how to make polite conversation. He is tidy in his habits in the Rue des Saladiers, eh? He does not spit on the floor or spill absinthe over the counterpane. _Ah! je suis un vieux salaud, hein?_ Don't say no. And Narcisse?" "It is he who will be contented to see you," cried Blanquette. "And so are we all. _Ah oui, en effet, je suis contente!_" She heaved a great sigh as though she had awakened from the night-mare of seeing herself a dripping corpse in the Morgue. "It is no longer the same thing when you are not in the house. Truly I am happy, Master. You can't understand." There was a little throb in her voice which Paragot seemed to notice, for as he bent down to her, his grip of my arm relaxed, and, I suppose, his grip of hers tightened.