The Avenue de Clichy was crowded at that hour, and a lively fancy might see in the passers-by the personages of many a sordid romance. There were clerks and shopgirls; old fellows who might have stepped out of the pages of Honore de Balzac; members, male and female, of the professions which make their profit of the frailties of mankind. There is in the streets of the poorer quarters of Paris a thronging vitality which excites the blood and prepares the soul for the unexpected. “Do you know Paris well?” I asked. “No. We came on our honeymoon. I haven’t been since.” “How on earth did you find out your hotel?” “It was recommended to me. I wanted something cheap.” The absinthe came, and with due solemnity we dropped water over the melting sugar. “I thought I’d better tell you at once why I had come to see you,” I said, not without embarrassment. His eyes twinkled. “I thought somebody would come along sooner or later. I’ve had a lot of letters from Amy.” “Then you know pretty well what I’ve got to say.” “I’ve not read them.” I lit a cigarette to give myself a moment’s time. I did not quite know now how to set about my mission. The eloquent phrases I had arranged, pathetic or indignant, seemed out of place on the Avenue de Clichy. Suddenly he gave a chuckle. “Beastly job for you this, isn’t it?” “Oh, I don’t know,” I answered. “Well, look here, you get it over, and then we’ll have a jolly evening.” I hesitated. “Has it occurred to you that your wife is frightfully unhappy?” “She’ll get over it.” I cannot describe the extraordinary callousness with which he made this reply. It disconcerted me, but I did my best not to show it. I adopted the tone used by my Uncle Henry, a clergyman, when he was asking one of his relatives for a subscription to the Additional Curates Society. “You don’t mind my talking to you frankly?” He shook his head, smiling. “Has she deserved that you should treat her like this?” “No.” “Have you any complaint to make against her?” “None.” “Then, isn’t it monstrous to leave her in this fashion, after seventeen years of married life, without a fault to find with her?” “Monstrous.” I glanced at him with surprise. His cordial agreement with all I said cut the ground from under my feet. It made my position complicated, not to say ludicrous. I was prepared to be persuasive, touching, and hortatory, admonitory and expostulating, if need be vituperative even, indignant and sarcastic; but what the devil does a mentor do when the sinner makes no bones about confessing his sin? I had no experience, since my own practice has always been to deny everything. “What, then?” asked Strickland. I tried to curl my lip. “Well, if you acknowledge that, there doesn’t seem much more to be said.” “I don’t think there is.” I felt that I was not carrying out my embassy with any great skill. I was distinctly nettled. “Hang it all, one can’t leave a woman without a bob.” “Why not?” “How is she going to live?”