afraid for a moment, but it came out all right), and we went and sat on the balcony in the soft warm moonlight; we watched the glitter of epaulets and gas, the satin of the bodices, the whiteness of passing shoulders; we dreamed the massy darknesses of the park, the fairy light along the lawny spaces, the heavy perfume of the flowers, the pink of the camellias; and you quoted something:  ’les camelias du balcon ressemblent a des desirs mourants.’ It was horrid of you:  but you always had a knack of rubbing one up the wrong way.  Then do you not remember how we danced in one room, while the servants set the other out with little tables?  That supper was fascinating!  I suppose it was these pleasant remembrances which made me wish for the shoes, but I could not summon up courage enough to buy them, and the horrid people were comparing me with the pastel; I suppose I did look a little mysterious with a double veil bound across my face.  The shoes went with a lot of other things—­and oh, to whom?

“So now that pretty little retreat in the Rue de la Tour des Dames is ended for ever for you and me.  We shall not see the faun in terre cuite again; I was thinking of going to see him the other day, but the street is so steep; my coachman advised me to spare the horse’s hind legs.  I believe it is the steepest street in Paris.  And your luncheon parties, how I did enjoy them, and how Fay did enjoy them too; and what I risked, shortsighted as I am, picking my way from the tramcar down to that out-of-the-way little street!  Men never appreciate the risks women run for them.  But to leave my letters lying about—­I cannot forgive that.  When I told Fay she said, ’What can you expect?  I warned you against flirting with boys.’  I never did before—­never.

“Paris is now just as it was when you used to sit on the balcony and I read you Browning.  You never liked his poetry, and I cannot understand why.  I have found a new poem which I am sure would convert you; you should be here.  There are lilacs in the room and the Mont Valerien is beautiful upon a great lemon sky, and the long avenue is merging into violet vapour.

“We have already begun to think of where we shall go to this year.  Last year we went to P——­, an enchanting place, quite rustic, but within easy distance of a casino.  I had vowed not to dance, for I had been out every night during the season, but the temptation proved irresistible, and I gave way.  There were two young men here, one the Count of B——­, the other the Marquis of G——­, one of the best families in France, a distant cousin of my husband.  He has written a book which every one says is one of the most amusing things that has appeared for years, c’est surtout tres Parisien.  He paid me great attentions, and made my husband wildly jealous.  I used to go out and sit with him amid the rocks, and it was perhaps very lucky for me that he went away.  We may return there this year; if so, I wish you would