"Your luggage--your great coat--your umbrella." "Why, at Melford," said he with an air of surprise. "Where else should they be?" I had thought that no action of Paragot could astonish me. I was wrong. I stared at him as stupefied as ever. "Usually people travel with their luggage," said I, foolishly. "They are usual people, my son. I am not one of them. It came to a point when I must either expire or go. I decided not to expire. These things are done all in a flash. I was walking in the garden. It was last Sunday afternoon--I remember now: a sodden November day. Imagine a sodden November Sunday afternoon English country-town garden. Joanna was at a children's service. Ah, _mon Dieu_! The desolation of that Sunday afternoon! The _death_, my son, that was in the air! Ah! I choked, I struggled. The garden-wall, the leaden sky closed in upon me. I walked out. I came back to Paris." "Just like that?" I murmured. "Just like that," said he. "You may have noticed, my son, that I am a man of swift decisions and prompt action. I walked to the Railway Station. A providential London train was expected in five minutes. I took it. _Voilà._" "Did you stay long in London?" I asked by way of saying something; for he began to pace up and down the room. "Did I see anything worth seeing at the theatres? And did I have a good crossing? My little Asticot, I perceive you have become an adept at conventional conversation. If you can't say something original I shall go back to Bubu le Vainqueur, whose society for the last three days has afforded me infinite delectation. Although his views of life may be what Melford would call depraved, at any rate they are first-hand. He does not waste his time in futile politeness." Suddenly he paused, and seized me by the shoulder and shook me, as he had often done before. "Creep out of that shell of gentility, you little hermit-crab," he cried, "and tell me how you would like to live in Melford for the rest of your natural life." "I shouldn't like it at all," said I. "Then, how do you expect me to have liked it?" Blanquette entered with the great white coffee jug and some thick cups and set the tray on the oilskin-covered table. Seeing Paragot in his grubby shirt-sleeves, she looked around, with her housewifely instinct of tidiness, for the discarded garments. "Where are--" "Gone," he shouted, waving his arms. "Cast into the flames, and rent in twain, and scattered to the winds of Heaven." He laughed, seeing that she did not understand, and poured out a jorum of coffee. "The farcical comedy is over, Blanquette," said he gently, "I'm a _Monsieur_ no longer, do you see? We are going to live just as we did before you went away in the summer, and I am not going to be married. I am going to live with my little Blanquette for ever and ever _in sæculo sæculorum, amen_."