“It’s always the best coffee I have ever drunk,” smiled Martin. He looked up at Fortinbras lounging in the wooden chair usually occupied by Corinna. “Do you know, Mr. Fortinbras, that Mademoiselle Félise has so spoilt me with food and drink that I shall never be able to face an English lodging-house meal again?” Fortinbras passed his arm round his daughter’s waist and drew her to him affectionately. “She would spoil me too, if she had the chance. It is astonishing what capability there is in this little body.” Félise, yielding to the caress, touched her father’s hair. “It’s like _mamman_, when she was young, _n’est-ce pas_?” She spoke in French which came more readily. “Yes,” said Fortinbras, in a deep voice. “Just like your mother.” “I try to resemble her. _Tu sais_, every time I feel I am lazy or missing my duties, I think of _mamman_, and I say, ‘No, I will not be unworthy of her.’ And so that gives me courage.” “I’ve heard so much of Mrs. Fortinbras,” said Martin, “that I seem to know her intimately.” A smile of great tenderness and sadness crept into Fortinbras’s eyes as he turned them on his daughter. “It is good that you still think and speak so much of her. Ideals keep the soul winged for flight. If it flies away into the empyrean and comes to grief like Icarus and his later fellow pioneers in aviation, at least it has done something.” He released her and she sped away on her duties. Presently she returned with a scared face. “Monsieur Martin, what has happened? Here is Corinna going to leave us this morning.” “Corinna going? Does she know I’m here?” asked Fortinbras in wonderment. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her. I did not dream that she was up—she generally rises so late. But she has told Baptiste to take down her boxes for the omnibus to catch the early train for Paris. _Mon Dieu_, what has happened to drive her away?” “Perhaps the visit yesterday of Monsieur Camille Fargot,” said Martin. “Eh?” said Fortinbras sharply. Then turning to Félise. “Go, my dear, and lay my humble homage at the feet of Mademoiselle Corinna and say that as I have travelled for nearly a day and a night in order to see her, I crave her courtesy so far as to defer her departure until I can have speech with her. You can also tell Baptiste that I’ll break his neck if he touches those boxes. The omnibus might also anticipate its usual hour of starting.” Félise departed. Fortinbras lit a cigarette, and holding it between his fingers, frowned at it. “Camille Fargot? What was that spawn of nothingness doing here?” “I fancy she sent for him,” said Martin. “I suppose I had better tell you all about it. I haven’t as yet—because it was none of my business.” “Proceed,” said Fortinbras, and Martin told him of the famous balance-striking and of Corinna’s subsequent behaviour, including last night’s retirement into solitude after her mysterious interview with the spawn of nothingness.