“No.  Who is Monsieur Cerf?”

“Ah!  She has not told you?  That astonishes me.  Monsieur Cerf, that is my friend, you know.”

“Oh!” murmured Sophia.

“Yes,” Laurence proceeded, impelled by a desire to impress Sophia and to gossip at large.  “That is my friend.  I knew him at the hospital.  It was to please him that I left the hospital.  After that we quarrelled for two years; but at the end he gave me right.  I did not budge.  Two years!  It is long.  And I had left the hospital.  I could have gone back.  But I would not.  That is not a life, to be nurse in a Paris hospital!  No, I drew myself out as well as I could ...  He is the most charming boy you can imagine!  And rich now; that is to say, relatively.  He has a cousin infinitely more rich than he.  I dined with them both to-night at the Maison Doree.  For a luxurious boy, he is a luxurious boy—­the cousin I mean.  It appears that he has made a fortune in Canada.”

“Truly!” said Sophia, with politeness.  Laurence’s hand was playing on the edge of the bed, and Sophia observed for the first time that it bore a wedding-ring.

“You remark my ring?” Laurence laughed.  “That is he—­the cousin.  ‘What!’ he said, ’you do not wear an alliance?  An alliance is more proper.  We are going to arrange that after dinner.’  I said that all the jewellers’ shops would be closed.  ’That is all the same to me,’ he said.  ‘We will open one.’  And in effect ... it passed like that.  He succeeded!  Is it not beautiful?” She held forth her hand.

“Yes,” said Sophia.  “It is very beautiful.”

“Yours also is beautiful,” said Laurence, with an extremely puzzling intonation.

“It is just the ordinary English wedding-ring,” said Sophia.  In spite of herself she blushed.

“Now I have married you.  It is I, the cure, said he—­the cousin—­ when he put the ring on my finger.  Oh, he is excessively amusing!  He pleases me much.  And he is all alone.  He asked me whether I knew among my friends a sympathetic, pretty girl, to make four with us three for a picnic.  I said I was not sure, but I thought not.  Whom do I know?  Nobody.  I’m not a woman like the rest.  I am always discreet.  I do not like casual relations. ...  But he is very well, the cousin.  Brown eyes. ...  It is an idea—­will you come, one day?  He speaks English.  He loves the English.  He is all that is most correct, the perfect gentleman.  He would arrange a dazzling fete.  I am sure he would be enchanted to make your acquaintance.  Enchanted! ...  As for my Charles, happily he is completely mad about me—­otherwise I should have fear.”

She smiled, and in her smile was a genuine respect for Sophia’s face.

“I fear I cannot come,” said Sophia.  She honestly endeavoured to keep out of her reply any accent of moral superiority, but she did not quite succeed.  She was not at all horrified by Laurence’s suggestion.  She meant simply to refuse it; but she could not do so in a natural voice.