"You used to have a portrait of Louis Philippe there," she said. "When Louis Philippe was on the throne," admitted the banker. "And now?" inquired this daughter of Eve, looking at the portrait. "My maternal aunt," replied Turner, making a gesture with two fingers, as if introducing his client to the portrait. "You keep her, one may suppose, as a stop-gap--between the dynasties. It is so safe--a maternal aunt!" "One cannot hang a republic on the wall, however much one may want to." "Then you are a Royalist?" inquired Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence. "No; I am only a banker," replied Turner, with his chin sinking lower on his bulging waistcoat and his eyes scarcely visible beneath the heavy lids. The remark, coupled with a thought that Turner was going to sleep, seemed to remind the client of her business. "Will you kindly ask one of your clerks to let me know how much money I have?" she said, casting a glance not wholly innocent of scornful reproach at the table, so glaringly devoid of the bare necessities of a banking business. "Only eleven thousand francs and fourteen sous," replied Turner, with a promptness which seemed to suggest that he kept no diary or note-book on the table before him because he had need of neither. "I feel sure I must have more than that," said Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence, with some spirit. "I quite thought I had." But John Turner only moistened his lips and sat patiently gazing at the date. His attitude dimly suggested--quite in a nice way--that the chair upon which Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence sat was polished bright by the garments of persons who had found themselves labouring under the same error. "Well, I must have a hundred thousand francs to-morrow; that is all. Simply must. And in notes, too. I told you I should want it when you came to see me at Royan. You must remember. I told you at luncheon." "When we were eating a sweetbread _aux champignons._ I remember perfectly. We do not get sweetbreads like that in Paris." And John Turner shook his head sadly. "Well, will you let me have the money to-morrow morning--in notes?" "I remember I advised you not to sell just now; after we had finished the sweetbread and had gone on to a _crême renversée_--very good one, too. Yes, it is a bad time to sell. Things are uncertain in France just now. One cannot even get one's meals properly served. Cook's head is full of politics, I suppose." "To-morrow morning--in notes," repeated Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence. "Now, your man at Royan was excellent--kept his head all through--and a light hand, too. Got him with you in Paris?" "No, I have not. To-morrow morning, about ten o'clock--in notes." And Mrs. St. Pierre Lawrence tapped a neat gloved finger on the corner of the table with some determination. "I remember--at dessert--you told me you wanted to realise a considerable sum of money at the beginning of the year, to put into some business venture. Is this part of that sum?" "Yes," returned the lady, arranging her veil.