At last I tapped him on the shoulder. "Let us lunch," said I. We strolled to the upper terrace. "It is wonderful," he remarked on the way thither, "how much sheer goodness there is in humanity." "Pure selfishness on my part. I hate lunching alone," said I. He turned on me a pained look. "I wasn't referring to you." Then meeting something quizzical in my eye, he grinned his broad ear-to-ear grin of a child of six. We lunched. We smoked and talked. At every moment a line seemed to fade from his care-worn face. At any rate, everything was not for the worst in the worst possible of worlds. I think he felt his sense of freedom steal over him in his gradual glow. At last I had him laughing and mimicking, in his inimitable way--a thing which he had not done for my benefit since the first night of our acquaintance--the elderly and outraged Moignon whom he proposed to visit in Paris, for the purpose of cancelling his contracts. As for Vichy--Vichy could go hang. There were ravening multitudes of demobilized variety artists besieging every stage-door in France. He was letting down nobody; neither the managements nor the public. Moignon would find means of consolation. "My dear Hylton," said he, "now that my faith in Bakkus is not only restored but infinitely strengthened, and my mind is at rest concerning Elodie, I feel as though ten years were lifted from my life. I'm no longer Petit Patou. The blessed relief of it! Perhaps," he added, after a pause, "the discipline has been good for my soul." "In what way?" "Well, you see," he replied thoughtfully, "in my profession I always was a second-rater. I was aware of it; but I was content, because I did my best. In the Army my vanity leads me to believe I was a first-rater. Then I had to go back, not only to second-rate, but to third-rate, having lost a lot in five years. It was humiliating. But all the same I've no doubt it has been the best thing in the world for me. The old hats will still fit." "If I had a quarter of your vicious modesty," said I, "I would see that I turned it into a dazzling virtue. What are your plans?" "You remember my telling you of a man I met in Marseilles called Arbuthnot?" "Yes," said I, "the fellow who shies at coco-nuts in the Solomon Islands." He grinned, and with singular aptness he replied: "I'll cable him this afternoon and see whether I can still have three shies for a penny." We discussed the proposal. Presently he rose. He must go to Vichy, where he had to wind up certain affairs of Les Petit Patou. To-morrow he would start for Paris and await Arbuthnot's reply. "And possibly you'll see Lady Auriol," I hazarded, this being the first time her name was mentioned. His brow clouded and he shook his head sadly. "I think not," said he. And, as I was about to protest, he checked me with a gesture. "That's all done with." "My dear, distinguished idiot," said I. "It can never be," he declared with an air of finality. "You'll break Bakkus's heart."