‘You ought to see it. The anonymous gift is the thin end of the wedge. The giver will see my wife dancing with his bracelet on her arm, and will believe her as venal as the girl who sold Rome for the same kind of gewgaw. He will follow up his first offering with a second, and then will come letters, anonymous at first, perhaps, like the bracelet, but when by insidious flattery he has smoothed the way to dishonour, he will declare himself--and then----’ ‘Unless your wife is a better woman than you believe her, there will be danger. Is that what you mean?’ asked Desrolles calmly, slowly puffing at his meerschaum. ‘No,’ said Chicot, reddening indignantly. He had not fallen low enough to hear his wife maligned, though he hated her. ‘No. If my wife were a woman to be led away by temptation of that kind, she and I would have parted long ago. But I don’t want to leave her exposed to the pursuit of a scoundrel. She and I have quarrelled about this trumpery bracelet, and I am going to leave her for a few days, till we are both in a better temper. I don’t want to leave her unprotected, with some silky rascal lying in wait for her between her lodgings and the theatre. I want some one, a man I can trust----’ ‘To keep an eye upon her while you’re away,’ said Desrolles. ‘My dear fellow, consider it done. Madame Chicot and I are excellent friends. I admire her; and I think she likes me. I will be her slave and her guardian in your absence; a father, with more than a father’s devotion.’ ‘She must not know,’ exclaimed Jack. ‘Of course not. Women are children of a larger growth, and must be treated as such. The pills we give them must be coated with sugar, the powders concealed in raspberry jam. I will make myself so agreeable to Madame Chicot that she will be delighted to accept my escort to and from the theatre; but I will keep her anonymous admirer at a distance as thoroughly as the fiercest dragon that ever kept watch over beauty.’ ‘A thousand thanks, Desrolles. You won’t find me ungrateful. Good-bye.’ ‘Are you going across the Channel?’ Mr. Chicot did not say where he was going, and Desrolles was too discreet to push the question. He was a man who boasted sometimes, when drink had made him maudlin, that, whatever had become of his morals, he had never lost his manners. Jack Chicot left a brief pencilled note for his wife:-- ‘DEAR ZAÏRE,--Since we get on so badly together, a few days’ separation will be good for both of us. I am off to the country for a breath of fresh air. I sicken in the odour of gas and stale brandy. Take care of yourself for your own sake, if not for mine.--Yours, ‘J. C.’ CHAPTER VII. ‘A LITTLE WHILE SUCH LIPS AS THINE TO KISS.’