"Perhaps he has the evil eye," she suggested, crimsoning with a sudden ghastly suspicion that the Anarchist, in his dark and dreadful fashion, might be in love with her; a suspicion chiefly based, it is to be feared, upon the malevolence with which this mysterious man glared upon M. Isidore, who appeared to enjoy it amazingly, and twirled his moustache and flashed his eyes at the Pole with a taunting insolence no Englishman can command. And dreadful as the notion of being the object of the Anarchist's passion was, it still held substantial compensation in the implied idea of being suspected of a flirtation with a young and handsome foreigner of dubious social status and admitted charm. It gave the proper Bohemian spice to the whole adventure. This, she recognized with a thrill, certainly was real life; the bon-bons M. Isidore offered her with an air of respectful gallantry tinged with despair had the zest of forbidden fruit. Everybody must have some fun sometimes, once in a life-time at least. The thin man was a most estimable person, with sound moral principles and interesting views upon art and literature; his paintings were charming--in the impressionist manner--but his presence was not entirely necessary to the enjoyment of the moment; he would probably turn up quite soon enough. The Anarchist passed on, turning once to inflict a final murderous glance upon the guileless Frenchman, who twirled his moustache with a more deadly insolence than ever in return. Mrs. Allonby went on enjoying real life, bon-bons and sunshine, quite peacefully, till the sound of a familiar gurgling chuckle made her turn her laughing eyes to the passing crowd, in the midst of which sailed the slender figure of Miss Boundrish, in a frock due to the genius of a renowned Paris maker, and accompanied by a tall and stiffly-carried youth, whose accent and bearing alike confessed him a Prussian officer--a fact of which he was, to do him justice, anything but ashamed. An air of possession on the lady's part, and of reluctant submission on the man's, proclaimed the situation clearly and afforded Ermengarde much quiet enjoyment. This was succeeded by a thrill, rather too keen this time, at the expression, or rather succession of expressions, on Miss Boundrish's face when her roving glance took in gradually the whole inwardness of the group of two in the rose-covered corner. Life was becoming almost too real now; for Ermengarde knew perfectly well that before slumber fell upon the household at Les Oliviers that night, every creature in it would possess some version, with variations and embroideries, of the present meeting in the gardens.