Cornelia herself suffered so many interruptions that even she had to postpone the confidential talk she had planned to hold with Robert before noon. After lunch, she allowed Robert to take his first stroll through Paris alone, reminding him to come back for an early dinner at half past six. According to her plan, the evening was to be spent in a general confab and merrymaking. Unluckily, she forgot to announce this plan in so many words, but took it for granted that no move involving Robert would be made that day without first consulting her. Her overconfidence defeated her. In one of the few moments when she was off guard, Janet contrived to get Robert by himself and secured his joyful acceptance of an invitation to a concert in the evening, for which she chanced to have two tickets. When Cornelia heard of it, she was in turn astounded and furious. Privately, to Harry and Mazie, she described Janet concisely as a selfish beast. In public, she kept herself commendably in hand. The dinner passed off without much hilarity and with no incidents other than one or two casual allusions, on Cornelia’s part, to M. St. Hilaire. As Janet went out with Robert, Kelly, full of mournful resignation, hoped that their purses would survive the brigandage, and their lives the epileptic locomotion, of the Paris taxi-cab drivers. Mazie called out: "Janet, my gentle pet, don’t let Rob land by mistake into the _Miroir de Venus_." (This was a cafe notorious for its high jinks.) "Why not?" "He might reform the joint, before the joint reforms him." *II* They got into an Odéon bus. On their way via the Boulevard des Italiennes to the Seine, she named a few of the sights they passed, such as the Théâtre Français and the Tuileries. Crossing the Pont du Carrousel, the bus jounced him against her and, as she thrilled to the touch, she felt his magnetic response. Yet, outwardly, a year and a half had not changed him greatly, she thought. There was the same fire in his eyes (but wasn’t there perhaps a shade less of friendliness?). He listened as politely as ever to routine chit-chat, and exhibited the same impetuous candor when the conversation flung up a new idea. "_You_ haven’t changed much, either," he said, rather suddenly, as though he had divined her reflections. "Your contours are a little rounder, that’s all, and I think your chin is much firmer." "And my big nose?" He pretended to appraise it judicially. "It’s a size smaller. Perhaps a size and a half." She laughed delightedly. It was a new thing for Robert to pay attention to such physical details. "Well, as long as you say it’s a change for the better—" "I don’t," he said, affecting a stern tone. "Not in the least. Do you know what? I’m afraid you’re fast turning yourself into one of these popular Paul Helleu beauties, a Parisian version of the Penrhyn Stanlaws girl." "I wish I could. But I’m not a magician, Robert."