I remember how she looked at me, expectantly, yet timidly, almost fearfully.  I kissed her.

“You’ve come to meet me!” I exclaimed stupidly.  “How are the children?”

“They’re very well, Hugh.  They wanted to come, too, but I thought it better not.”

Her restraint struck me as extraordinary; and while I was thankful for the relief it brought to a situation which might have been awkward, I was conscious of resenting it a little.  I was impressed and puzzled.  As I walked along the platform beside her she seemed almost a stranger:  I had difficulty in realizing that she was my wife, the mother of my children.  Her eyes were clear, more serious than I recalled them, and her physical as well as her moral tone seemed to have improved.  Her cheeks glowed with health, and she wore a becoming suit of dark blue.

“Did you have a good trip, Hugh?” she asked.

“Splendid,” I said, forgetting the storm.  We took our seats in an empty compartment.  Was she glad to see me?  She had come all the way from Paris to meet me!  All the embarrassment seemed to be on my side.  Was this composure a controlled one or had she indeed attained to the self-sufficiency her manner and presence implied?  Such were the questions running through my head.

“You’ve really liked Paris?” I asked.

“Yes, Hugh, and it’s been very good for us all.  Of course the boys like America better, but they’ve learned many things they wouldn’t have learned at home; they both speak French, and Biddy too.  Even I have improved.”

“I’m sure of it,” I said.

She flushed.

“And what else have you been doing?”

“Oh, going to galleries.  Matthew often goes with me.  I think he quite appreciates the pictures.  Sometimes I take him to the theatre, too, the Francais.  Both boys ride in the Bois with a riding master.  It’s been rather a restricted life for them, but it won’t have hurt them.  It’s good discipline.  We have little excursions in an automobile on fine days to Versailles and other places of interest around Paris, and Matthew and I have learned a lot of history.  I have a professor of literature from the Sorbonne come in three times a week to give me lessons.”

“I didn’t know you cared for literature.”

“I didn’t know it either.”  She smiled.  “Matthew loves it.  Monsieur Despard declares he has quite a gift for language.”

Maude had already begun Matthew’s education!

“You see a few people?” I inquired.

“A few.  And they have been very kind to us.  The Buffons, whom I met at Etretat, and some of their friends, mostly educated French people.”