"He has never mentioned your name to me, Madame," I said eagerly, for I saw her resentment. "Then how did you know?" I recounted the history of the old stocking. I also mentioned Paragot's appeal to me as a scholar and a gentleman. A wan smile played about her lips. "Was that soon after he bought you for half-a-crown?" "Yes, Madame," said I. "And an old stocking?" "Yes, Madame. And since then we have never spoken of the papers." "But how did you know I was the--the Joanna of the papers?" "I guessed," said I. I could not tell her of the _petits pieds si adorés_. "You are an odd boy," she said. "Tell me all about yourself." Unversed in woman's wiles I flushed with pleasure at her flattering interest. I did not perceive that it was an invitation to tell her all about Paragot. I related, however, artlessly the story of my life from the morning when I delivered my tattered copy of "Paradise Lost" to Paragot instead of the greasy washing book: and if my narrative glowed rosier with poetic illusion than the pages on which it has been set down, pray forgive nineteen for seeing things in a different light and perspective from a hundred and fifty. In my description of the Lotus Club, for instance, I felt instinctively that Madame de Verneuil would wince at the sound of tripe; I conveyed to her my own childish impression of the magnificence of Paragot's bedchamber, and the story of our wanderings became an Idyll of No Man's Land. "And what is he doing now?" We had grown so confidential that we exchanged smiles. "He is cultivating philosophy," said I. Perhaps it was a sign of my development that I could detect a little spot of clay in my idol. We had gone south, past the Observatoire to Montrouge, and had turned back before I realised that we were in the Boulevard Saint-Michel again near the prearranged end of my drive. "Do you know why I am so glad to have met you to-day?" she asked. "I think--indeed I know I can trust you. I am in great trouble and I have an idea that your Master can help me." She looked at me so earnestly, so wistfully, her face seemed to grow of a sudden so young and helpless, that all my boy's fantastic chivalry was roused. "My Master would lay down his life for you, Madame," I cried. "And so would I." "Even if I never, never, in this world forgave him?" "You would forgive him in the next, Madame," I answered, scarce knowing what I said, "and he would be contented." The carriage stopped at the appointed place. I felt as if I were about to descend from the side of an Olympian goddess to sordid humanity, to step from the Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon on to the common earth. It was I who looked wistful. "May I come to see you, Madame?" The quick fear came into her eyes. "Not as yet, Mr. Asticot," she said holding out her hand. "My husband is queer tempered at times. I will write to you."