"Bored? I am having the time of my life." "Eh bien? Remain for two months, I beg. Be merciful to us. I need your advice, myself. There is a matter that is harassing me: I cannot determine whether her new jumper should be beaded, silk-broidered, or fringed." "If it is telling on your health----" Her eyes laughed into his. "You yield?" "I weakly wobble." "There is, further, the consuming question of a simple evening dress--what it should be made of." "I succumb. Tulle would be all right, or Georgette." "It shall be Georgette--we shall not lose you so utterly when you go." "Oh, you _are_--priceless!" she pealed. Vauquelin reflected, "She has three sterling qualities, this girl--she is pretty, she is nice, and she looks at me as if I were a young man." During the next six weeks Vauquelin developed a zest for the Français that was astonishing. And not for the Français only, or for the Opéra Comique, and concerts, and kinemas. Blanche had never applauded her papa so ardently. He would be seized with captivating whims for expeditions, and picnics, and moonlight runs in the car. His frolicsomeness passed belief. Not till the six weeks were over and mademoiselle Paumelle had departed, bearing Blanche with her, did his spirits fall. And then there would have been no buyers. The middle-aged gentleman was plunged into melancholy, the worse to bear from the fact that he was conscious of being comic. Trying to throw dust in his own eyes, "It is frightful how I miss Blanche," he would soliloquise at the elegiac dinner-table. But the eyes were fixed sentimentally on the place that had been Georgette's. And as the date approached for Blanche to return, and his heart sank before the necessity for resuming his capers, "It is clear," he told himself, "that the affection I entertained for that Georgette Paumelle was almost parental!" The fatherliness of his feelings for her, however, did not avert increased regrets at the greying moustache; and he abandoned his shaving mirror, because it magnified the lines about his nose and mouth. Blanche, on his knee again, had plenty to tell. She described the stepfather as a "trial," and his maiden sisters as "cats." She had enjoyed herself, because Georgette and she had been together all day, but it must be hideous there for Georgette alone. "She isn't going to stick it much longer. She is miserable with them." "How distressing that is!" said Vauquelin. "To whom does she go?" "Well, she has money of her own, you know--she can live where she likes." "_Mais--Comment donc_? She cannot live by herself--une jeune fille, bien élevée! What an idea! Her people would never sanction it." "I think they would be rather glad to get rid of her," said Blanche, choosing a chocolate with deliberation. "But--but it is monstrous! To live like a bohemian, _she_! It is unheard of, terrible. Is she out of her mind? Listen, ma chérie, if her plight upsets you so violently, she can make her home with us."