"I suppose the Zouave would have buried me--he's such a helpful creature, you know. He's been in Algiers. He says I ought to go there. His name is Hégisippe Cruchot." "But what about the flat?" asked Emmy. "Oh, you see, I fell down in front of the cab and he dragged me away and brushed me down with a waiter's napkin--there was a café within a yard or two. And then I asked him to have a drink and gave him a cigarette. He drank absinthe, without water, and then I began to explain to him an idea for an invention which occurred to me to prevent people from being run over by cabs, and he was quite interested. I'll show you--" "You won't," said Emmy, with a laugh. She had her lighter moments. "You'll do no such thing--not until you've told me about the flat." "Oh! the flat," said Septimus in a disappointed tone, as if it were a secondary matter altogether. "I gave him another absinthe and we became so friendly that I told him that I wanted a flat and didn't in the least know how to set about finding one. It turned out that there was an _appartement_ vacant in the house of which his mother is concierge. He took me along to see it, and introduced me to Madame, his mother. He has also got an aunt who can cook." "I should like to have seen you talking to the Zouave," said Emmy. "It would have made a pretty picture--the two of you hobnobbing over a little marble table." "It was iron, painted yellow," said Septimus. "It wasn't a resplendent café." "I wonder what he thought of you." "Well, he introduced me to his mother," replied Septimus gravely, whereat Emmy broke into merry laughter, for the first time for many days. "I've taken the _appartement_ for a month and the aunt who can cook," he remarked. "What!" cried Emmy, who had not paid very serious regard to the narrative. "Without knowing anything at all about it?" She put on her hat and insisted on driving there incontinently, full of misgivings. But she found a well-appointed house, a deep-bosomed, broad-beamed concierge, who looked as if she might be the mother of twenty helpful Zouaves, and an equally matronly and kindly-faced sister, a Madame Bolivard, the aunt aforesaid who could cook. Thus, as the ravens fed Elijah, so did Zouaves and other casual fowl aid Septimus on his way. Madame Bolivard in particular took them both under her ample wing, to the girl's unspeakable comfort. A _brav' femme_, Madame Bolivard, who not only could cook, but could darn stockings and mend linen, which Emmy's frivolous fingers had never learned to accomplish. She could also prescribe miraculous _tisanes_ for trivial ailments, could tell the cards, and could converse volubly on any subject under heaven; the less she knew about it, the more she had to say, which is a great gift. It spared the girl many desolate and despairing hours.