‘Saved?’ questioned Andre.  ’What have cigarettes to do with a man’s salvation?’

’It’s a habit I learned in Russia.  I feared it might relate itself in some way to the Schism.’  And he lit a cigarette.  ’I’m always a rigid Catholic when I’m in France.’

‘And when you’re in England?’

’Oh, one goes in for local colour, for picturesqueness, don’t you know.  The Church of England’s charmingly overgrown with ivy.  And besides, they’re going to disestablish it.  One must make the most of it while it lasts.  Tell me—­why can you never get decent brioches except in Catholic countries?’

‘Is that a fact?’

‘I swear it.’

‘It’s very singular,’ said Andre.

’It’s only one of the many odd things a fellow learns from travel.—­Hush!  Wait a moment.’

He rose hastily, and made a dash with his hand at the tail of a lizard, that was hanging temptingly out from a bunch of wistaria leaves.  But the lizard was too quick for him.  With a whisk, it had disappeared.  He sank back into his chair, sighing.  ’It’s always like that.  They’ll never keep still long enough to let me catch them.  What’s the use of a university education and a cosmopolitan culture, if you can’t catch lizards?  Do you think they have eyes in the backs of their heads?’

Andre stared.

‘Oh, I see.  You think I’m frivolous,’ Paul said plaintively.  ’But you ought to have seen me an hour or two ago.’

Andre’s eyes asked, ‘Why?’

’Oh, I was plunged in all the most appropriate emotions—­shedding floods of tears over my lost childhood and my misspent youth.  Don’t you like to have a good cry now and then?  Oh, I don’t mean literal tears, of course; only spiritual ones.  For the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.  I walked over to Granjolaye.’

Andre looked surprise.  ‘To Granjolaye?  Have you—­were you—­’

He hesitated, but Paul understood.  ’Have you heard from her?  Were you invited?’ ‘Oh, dear, no,’ he answered.  ’No such luck.  Not to the Chateau, only to the gates—­the East Gate.’ (The principal entrance to the home park of Granjolaye is the South Gate, which opens upon the Route Departementale.) ’I stood respectfully outside, and looked through the grating of the grille.  I walked through the forest, by the Sentier des Contrebandiers.’

‘Ah,’ said Andre.

‘And on my way what do you suppose I met?’

‘A—­a viper,’ responded Andre.  ’The hot weather is bringing them out.  I killed two in my garden yesterday.’

’Oh, you cruel thing!  What did you want to kill the poor young creatures for?  And then to boast of it!—­But no, not a viper.  A lady.’

‘A lady?’

’Yes—­a real lady; she wore gloves.  She was riding.  I hope you won’t think I’m asking impertinent questions, but I wonder if you can tell me who she is.’

‘A lady riding in the Sentier des Contrebandiers?’ Andre repeated incredulously.