Grey Roses. Harland Henry

I feel like one emerging from ten years in the galleys, ten years of penal servitude. To the Pension Childe—bonsoir!'

      'That's all very well for you,' her listener complained sombrely. 'But for me? Where shall I stop when I come to Paris?'

      'With me. You shall be my guest. I will kill you if you ever go elsewhere. You shall pass your old age in a big chair in the best room, and Camille and I will nurse your gout and make herb-tea for you.'

      'And I shall sit and think of what might have been.'

      'Yes, we'll indulge all your little foibles. You shall sit and "feel foolish"—from dawn to dewy eve.'

XII.

       Table of Contents

      If you had chanced to be walking in the Bois-de-Boulogne this afternoon, you might have seen a smart little basket-phaeton flash past, drawn by two glossy frays, and driven by a woman—a woman with sparkling eyes, a lovely colour, great quantities of soft dark hair, and a figure—