“I am saying what I know,” he returned darkly. “He was no friend to me.” “And he wants you to go to his death-bed?” asked Mrs. Fontaine, taking her elbows off the table. “How very painful!” “You had better put such lunatic ideas out of your head, and take the night train to Marseilles,” said Clementina roughly. Quixtus bit his knuckles and stared at the litter of tea in front of him. The orchestra for their last number played a common little jiggety air. “Are you coming?” asked Clementina. “Why should Dr. Quixtus,” said Mrs. Fontaine; “travel all the way to Marseilles to witness the death of a man whom he dislikes? I think it’s unreasonable to ask it.” “Yes, yes,” said Quixtus. “It’s unreasonable.” “And it would break up our pleasant little party,” pleaded Lady Louisa. “Confound your party!” exclaimed Clementina; whereat Lady Louisa withered up in astonishment. “I’m telling him to perform an act of humanity.” “He was my enemy,” said Quixtus in a low voice. “And so you can hardly ask him to go and gloat over his death,” said Lady Louisa stupidly. “Eh? What’s that?” cried Quixtus, straightening himself up. “We’re dealing with Christian gentlemen, not devils,” Clementina retorted. “No, not devils—oh, certainly not devils,” said Quixtus with a chuckling catch in his voice. Clementina plucked him by the sleeve. “I can’t stand here all the afternoon arguing with you. Even if you have got it into your head that the man offended you, you did care for him once, and it’s only common charity to go to him now that he’s at the point of death. Are you going or not?” Quixtus looked helplessly from one woman to the other. “There’s such a thing as straining quixotism too far, my dear Dr. Quixtus,” said Mrs. Fontaine. “I see no reason why you should go.” “I’m a decent woman and I see every reason,” said Clementina, infuriated at the other’s intervention. “I’ll see that he goes. I’ll get tickets now from Cook’s and come round to the Continental in a taxi and fetch you.” Quixtus rose and extended his hand to Clementina. “I shall go. I promise you,” he said with all his courtliness of manner. “And I shall not trouble you to get my ticket or call for me. _Au revoir._” He accompanied her to the door. On parting he said with a smile; “I have my reasons for going—reasons that no one but myself can understand.” And when he returned to Mrs. Fontaine, who was biting her lips with annoyance at Clementina’s apparent victory, he repeated the words with the same smile and the curious gleam of cunning that sometimes marred the blandness of his eyes. He had his reasons. “After all,” said the lady, during their Faust and Marguerite walk to the Hôtel Continental entrance in the Rue Castiglione, “I can’t blame you. It’s an errand of mercy. Doubtless he wishes to absolve his conscience from the wrong, whatever it was, that he did you. Your _pétroleuse_ friend was right. It is a noble action.” “I have my reasons,” said Quixtus.