Again that shrug of the shoulders. “At Marseilles, where one is so well known and, to a certain extent, looked up to, Monsieur Grewgus, one has to lead a very staid life. I will confess frankly I am not quite as good a boy as I should be. I travel about a great deal in the course of my business, and when I find myself in a place where I have no intimate friends, I admit to a little flutter now and then. I am too old to be a gay Lothario, but I am naturally fond of women’s society,” he added with a roguish smile, “especially the society of pretty and attractive women.” He paused to pour out a second glass of champagne for the interested Grewgus. Certainly there was no sullen reserve about the genial and opulent-looking jeweller. He alluded in the frankest fashion to his little weaknesses, even his peccadilloes. “This happened last year,” he resumed. “Charming and chic as she is, she had almost faded from my mind. Behold, walking down the Boulevard des Italiens, I come upon her alone. I was very pleased to see her, for I was getting a bit bored with my own society, and she appeared pleased to see me. She told me she and her mother were staying at the _Hôtel Terminus_. Ah, that excellent mother, she had spoiled the Rome visit. I did not require any more of the good mother. I plucked up my courage, and asked her point-blank if she could see her way to dine with me without a chaperone. I should not have been surprised if she had declined, but she accepted, explaining that things were very much altered in her own English country since the war, and that for herself she had always paid little heed to convention.” With another expressive gesture, Monsieur Calliard lifted his hands. “Since then she has dined with me every evening up till last night.” “Do you know she has left Paris this morning?” queried Grewgus. “She informed me of her intention as we sat at dinner. I was a little amazed because, having a slack time to-day, we had half made an appointment to go to Versailles. She excused herself on the plea that her mother had to return to London on urgent business. I suggested she should follow Madame Glenthorne later on, but she smiled when I did so. ‘I am pretty unconventional, Monsieur Calliard,’ she said, ‘but not quite bold enough for that.’ I think, my friend, that is all I have to tell you, and now, perhaps, as you seem to know a good deal about this young lady, you will tell me something that interests me.” “With the greatest pleasure, Monsieur Calliard. I will presently tell you all I do know. But first I should like to put another question. What sort of an account did the young lady give of herself to you?” The jeweller considered: “I cannot remember that she was very communicative. I gathered that her mother had private means, that they travelled about a good deal, and were very familiar with the Continent. She also told me her father was dead, and that they had hardly any relatives.”