"You see! I make myself at home ... And now for supper." She laid down a silver tray with a plate and glass and arranged his knives and forks for him. "Monsieur est servi." She caught up a napkin and threw it gaily over her arm. "Monsieur will not forget the poor waiter--who--how absurd!--cannot open the wine!" She held out toward him a bottle of champagne. "Vite, mon cher!--I die of thirst." McTaggart felt suddenly relieved. He entered heartily into the sport. "What would the poor waiter like for a tip? Furs perhaps, or a motor car?" "I'll tell you later," she flashed him a glance as he cut the wire and extracted the cork. He poured it foaming in the glasses. "Here's to ... to-night!" He drank it off. As supper proceeded the desire of adventure drowned all else in McTaggart's mind. A man can only be young once, he told himself, and refilled his glass. And Fantine seemed to lay aside all thought of to-morrow, to drift content through this golden hour the Gods vouchsafed, ignoring the loom where the Grey Fates spun. When the last drop of wine was gone and satiety claimed them as willing victims, McTaggart dragged the table back and pulled the sofa near the fire. "Now--come and talk to me, mon amie--here's a stool for those little feet. You really are a dream to-night!--I never saw you look so ... tempting!" She lay back against the cushions, watching him stir the coals in the grate. "Let's sit in the fire light," he suggested, and switched off the electricity. Behind his back she stole a glance at the clock, and her face fell, then grew thoughtful. "Another hour," she said to herself, with the odd sensation of a respite. "A cigarette first--please, Pierrot." "What nonsense! You've smoked enough." His voice was masterful and she pouted. "Mechant! give me one, _at once_." He lit it, somewhat grudgingly, watching the flame of the match spurt and illumine her piquante face in the semi-darkness of the room. She drew the smoke in lazily, through the pursed-up, vivid lips. "Have one too?" She handed the box--"and tell me ... all about yourself." "That's clever..." McTaggart smiled. "You've hit upon my favorite subject. But I think to-night we'll talk of you. Tell me"--he paused--"of your life in Algiers." Strange, how that picture haunted him! "That's long ago," she shrank slightly, then rallied herself to the task. "I went there as a bride, you see. My husband was head of a kind of syndicate. It's a nice place in the Winter-time--there's a large French Colony there. And plenty of English people too--it's quite gay--with music--and cards." McTaggart smiled to himself. At the words he made a shrewd guess at Gustave's business in Algiers. But Fantine skillfully led the talk through devious channels back to himself. Once launched on the stream he told her of his early years, his parents' death, his college career, and the growing boredom of his days.