Mrs. Cockayne being of an exceedingly yielding temperament, allowed herself to be mollified, and sailed out of the hotel, with the blue veil hanging from her hat down her back, observing by the way that she should like to box those impudent Frenchmen's ears who were lounging about the doorway, and who, she was sure, were looking at her. Mr. Cockayne was unfortunate enough to opine that his wife was mistaken, and that the Frenchmen in question were not even looking in her direction. "Of course not, Mr. Cockayne," said the lady; "who would look at me, at my time of life?" "Nonsense! I didn't mean that," said Mr. Cockayne, now a little gruffly, for there was a limit even to _his_ patience. "It is difficult to tell what you mean. I don't think you know yourself, half your time." Thus agreeably beguiling the way, the pair walked to the shop in the Rue de la Paix, where the lady had seen a brooch entirely to her mind. It was the large enamel rose-leaf, with three charming dew-drops in the shape of brilliants. "They speak English, I hope," said Mr. Cockayne. "We ought to have brought Sophonisba with us." "Sophonisba! much use _her_ French is in this place. She says their French and the French she learnt at school are two perfectly different things. So you may make up your mind that all those extras for languages you paid for the children were so much money thrown away." "That's a consoling reflection, now the money's gone," quoth Mr. Cockayne. They then entered the shop. A very dignified gentleman, with exquisitely arranged beard and moustache, and dressed unexceptionably, made a diplomatic bow to Mr. Cockayne and his wife. Cockayne, without ceremony, plunged _in medias res_. He wanted to look at the rose-leaf with the diamonds on it. The gentleman in black observed that it became English ladies' complexion "a ravir."