"First, I salute the Countess of Ironsides--ah, mon Dieu, la Diane chasseresse--la Sapho de Pradier! Then Madame Cornelys, the wife of the great sculptor, who lives next door--a daughter of the ancient gods of Greece! Then a magnificent blonde, an old friend of theirs, who speaks French absolutely like a Frenchwoman, and says thee and thou to M. Josselin, and introduces me to her brother, un vrai type de colosse bon enfant, d'une tenue irréprochable [thank you, M. Paroly], who also speaks the French of France, for he was at school there--a school-fellow of our host. "There are two or three children, girls, more beautiful than anything or anybody else in the house--in the world, I think! They give me tea and cakes, and bread and butter; most delicious tartines, as thin as wafers, and speak French well, and relate to me the biographies of their animals, une vraie ménagerie which I afterwards have to visit--immense dogs, rabbits, hedgehogs, squirrels, white mice, and a gigantic owl, who answers to the name of Minerva. "I find myself, ma foi, very happy among these wonderful people, and preserve an impression of beauty, of bonhomie, of naturalness and domestic felicity quite unlike anything I have ever been privileged to see--an impression never to be forgotten. "But as for _Étoiles Mortes_ and _Les Trépassées de François Villon_, I really have to give them up; the beautiful big dogs are more important than all the books in the world, even the master's--even the master himself! "However, I want no explanation to see and understand how M. Josselin has written most of his chefs-d'oeuvre from the depths of a happy consciousness habituated to all that is most graceful and charming and seductive in real life--and a deeply sympathetic, poignant, and compassionate sense of the contrast to all this. "Happy mortal, happy family, happy country where grow (poussent) such people, and where such children flourish! The souvenir of that so brief hour spent at Gretna Lodge is one of the most beautiful souvenirs of my life--and, above all, the souvenir of the belle châtelaine who filled my hansom with beautiful roses culled by her own fair hand, which gave me at parting that cordial English pressure so much more suggestive of _Au revoir_ than _Adieu_! "It is with sincere regret one leaves people who part with one so regretfully. "Alphonse Paroly." * * * * * Except that good and happy women have no history, I should almost like to write the history of Barty's wife, and call it the history of the busiest and most hard-working woman in Great Britain. Barty left everything to her--to the very signing of cheques. He would have nothing to do with any business of any kind.