"If I don't know you, you are a very ill-bred young man to have saluted me," she said in French. "But I think I have seen you before." "If I had not met you before I should not have bowed. You are the Comtesse de Verneuil," said I in English, very boyishly and eagerly. The spring and the sight of Joanna had sent the blood into my pasty cheeks. "I once played the tambourine at Aix," I added. She grew suddenly pale, put her hand to her heart and clutched at a bunch of Parma violets she was wearing. They fell to the ground. "No, no, it is nothing," she said, as I stepped forward. "Only a slight shock. I remember you perfectly. You said your name was Asticot. I asked you to come and see me. Why haven't you?" "You said I might come if I were in want. But thanks to my dear Master I am not." I picked up the violets. "Your master?" She looked relieved, and thanked me with a smile for the flowers. "He is well? He is with you in Paris? Is he still playing the violin?" "He is well," said I. "He is in Paris, but he only plays the violin at home when, as he says, he wants to have a conversation with his soul." The frost melted from her eyes and they smiled at me. "You have caught his trick of talking." "You once called me an amazing parrot, Madame," said I. "It is quite true." "In the meantime," said she, "we can't stand in the Place Vendôme for ever. Come for a drive and we can talk in the carriage." "In the----" I gasped stupefied, pointing to the victoria. "Why not?" she laughed. "Do you think it's dangerous?" "No," said I, "but----" But she was already in the carriage; and as I stepped in beside her I noted the tips of her little feet so adored by Paragot. "I'm glad you're English," she remarked, arranging the rug. "A young Frenchman would have replied with the obvious gallantry. I think the young Englishman rather despises that kind of obviousness." The coachman turned on his seat and asked whither he should drive Madame la Comtesse. "Anywhere. I don't know"--then desperately, "Drive to the fortifications. Where the fortifications are I haven't the remotest idea. I believe they are a kind of pleasure resort for people who want to get murdered. You hear of them in the papers. We'll cross the river," she said to the coachman.