One morning, as I sat smoking my after-breakfast cigar in my rooms in St. James' Street, my friend Gustave de Berensac rushed in. His bright brown eyes were sparkling, his mustache seemed twisted up more gayly and triumphantly than ever, and his manner was redolent of high spirits. Yet it was a dull, somber, misty morning, for all that the month was July and another day or two would bring August. But Gustave was a merry fellow, though always (as I had occasion to remember later on) within the limits of becoming mirth--as to which, to be sure, there may be much difference of opinion. "Shame!" he cried, pointing at me. "You are a man of leisure, nothing keeps you here; yet you stay in this _bouillon_ of an atmosphere, with France only twenty miles away over the sea!" "They have fogs in France too," said I. "But whither tends your impassioned speech, my good friend? Have you got leave?" Gustave was at this time an extra secretary at the French Embassy in London. "Leave? Yes, I have leave--and, what is more, I have a charming invitation." "My congratulations," said I. "An invitation which includes a friend," he continued, sitting down. "Ah, you smile! You mean that is less interesting?" "A man may smile and smile, and not be a villain," said I. "I meant nothing of the sort. I smiled at your exhilaration--nothing more, on the word of a moral Englishman." Gustave grimaced; then he waved his cigarette in the air, exclaiming: "She is charming, my dear Gilbert!" "The exhilaration is explained." "There is not a word to be said against her," he added hastily. "That does not depress me," said I. "But why should she invite me?" "She doesn't invite you; she invites me to bring--anybody!" "Then she is _ennuyée_, I presume?" "Who would not be, placed as she is? He is inhuman!" "_M. le mari?_" "You are not so stupid, after all! He forbids her to see a single soul; we must steal our visit, if we go." "He is away, then?" "The kind government has sent him on a special mission of inquiry to Algeria. Three cheers for the government!" "By all means," said I. "When are you going to approach the subject of who these people are?" "You will not trust my discernment?" "Alas, no! You are too charitable--to one half of humanity." "Well, I will tell you. She is a great friend of my sister's--they were brought up in the same convent; she is also a good comrade of mine." "A good comrade?" "That is just it; for I, you know, suffer hopelessly elsewhere." "What, Lady Cynthia still?" "Still!" echoed Gustave with a tragic air. But he recovered in a moment. "Lady Cynthia being, however, in Switzerland, there is no reason why I should not go to Normandy." "Oh, Normandy?" "Precisely. It is there that the duchess--" "Oho! The duchess?" "Is residing in retirement in a small _château_, alone save for my sister's society." "And a servant or two, I presume?"