"Not on the whole," she replied diplomatically, turning very red at the sudden apparition of the thin man, who had laboured up, panting, from behind them. "Well," he gasped, "I hope you got a decent cup of tea somewhere. I promenaded Giro's from end to end in vain, and imagined the most terrible disasters befalling you. So I had to have seven cigars and an ice. I pictured you shot in heroic attempts to rescue wounded pigeons at the Tir, or to snatch pistols from would-be suicides, or yielding to the fascinations of jewellers' shops, and being run in by mistake for adroit thefts, or robbed of that dainty little bag, and here I find you, safe under Miss Somers' angel wing all the time." "Not all the time. But I thought you said Café de Paris. So sorry." The thin man was in great spirits. He observed that few things were more enjoyable than the walk through the Gardens to the train at that evening time, as he handed the ladies into their carriage, while Ermengarde silently gave the palm to other incidents of an enjoyable afternoon. In the carriage they discovered, one by one, Miss Boundrish, "returning from Nice," she gurgled confidentially; M. Isidore, unobtrusively polite as usual; and, glaring fiercely at them from a remote corner, the Anarchist. The latter suddenly discovered, just as the train was beginning to move, that he had taken the wrong one, and got out again, to Ermengarde's immense relief--for the creature snorted and puffed intolerably. Probably, she reflected, he knew his own weakness, and doubted his ability to refrain from assassinating M. Isidore, if compelled any longer to witness his proximity to herself--a reflection not entirely devoid of charm. "Why," Mr. Welbourne murmured in his most melancholy voice at her ear, as the train rolled slowly in the direction of Italy--"why choose the loveliest spot on earth for all this devilry, when it could be done quite as well in a disused coal-mine?" "Why," she whispered, with reddening cheeks, in reply; "why hit a man when he is down?" Chapter XI Katzenjammer In its leisurely progress back to Mentone the train passed through the same scenes as in leaving it, but they had not the same charm. The sun was set, the air chill, the world inclined to be grey.