“Who is she—­quick, tell me, who is she?  Whenever one pleases I will marry her—­now, on getting down from the train.  In my arms!  I held her in my arms!  Such a waist!  A dream!  There are, as you must know, slim waists and slim waists.  There are waists which are slim, hard, harsh, stiff, bony, or mechanically made by odious artifices in the corsets.  I have thoroughly studied the corset question.  It’s so important!  And then there’s the true slim waist, which is easy, natural, supple.  Supple isn’t sufficient for what just slid through my hands a short time ago.  Slippery—­yes, that’s the word.  Slippery just expresses my thought—­a slippery waist!”

Raoul was quite charmed with what he said.

“Yes,” he continued, “slippery; and that little pug-nose! and her little eyes have quite a—­a Chinese air!  But who is she, who is she?”

“The daughter of one of my mother’s friends.”

“Is she rich?”

“Very rich.”

“It’s on account of papa that I asked you that, because I would marry her without a dowry.  It’s the first time I’ve ever said such a thing on meeting a young girl.  And now the name.”

“Mlle. Martha Derame.”

“Derame, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t the father a wealthy merchant who has business in Japan and China?”

“The same.”

“Ah, my dear fellow—­no; one only sees such things in the comic plays of the minor theatres, at Cluny or Dejazet.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with me?  She’s papa’s Number Three—­yes, Number Three.  The father of that little marvel is one of papa’s piquet players at the club.  And I wouldn’t see Number Three, and she falls into my arms on the platform between Paris and Lyons.  You will present me after lunch, and I shall speak to the mother and tell her all.”

“How, all?”

“Yes, all; that her daughter is papa’s Number Three, and that I didn’t want Number One or Two, but that I should like Number Three.  Ah, dear boy, how pretty she is—­especially her nose, so charmingly turned up.  She has just looked at me, and in a certain way; I am sure I don’t displease her.  Did you mention me, did you tell my name?”

“No.”

“You were wrong.  At any rate, right after lunch—­Do you know what I think?  That this affair will go through on wheels.  I shall first telegraph papa, and then to-morrow—­Oh, heavens!  I hope there’s a telephone between Paris and Marseilles—­”

He interrupted himself and called: 

“Porter!  Porter!”

“Sir.”

“Is there a telephone between Paris and Marseilles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah!  That’s all Thanks.  The telephone, Maurice, there’s the telephone!  Papa can speak for me to-morrow by telephone.  It will be charming!  Marriage by express.  Express, electric, telephonic, and romantic marriage, all at the same time.  You understand that between a little phiz like that and a voyage around the world I don’t hesitate.  But why haven’t you thought of marrying her?”