Grey Roses

ad lunched, I found in my letter box, in the concierge's room, two half sheets of paper, folded, with the corners turned down, and my name superscribed in pencil.

e. It is now midi juste.' That was the first. The second ran: 'I have waited till a quarter to one. Now I a

the far end Nina was seated before a marble table, with Madame Chanve in smiles and tears beside her. I heard a little cry; I felt myself seized and enveloped for a moment by something like a whirlwind-oh,

sp edge to it, that might have been called slightly nasal, but was agr

ls about her forehead, and thence waved richly away to where it was massed behind; her cheeks glowed with a lovely colour (thanks, doubtless, to Yorkshire breezes; sweet are the uses of adversity); her eyes sparkled; her lips curved in a perpetual play of smiles, letting her delicate little teeth show themselves furtively; and suddenly I realised that this g

tly staring at her, with an air of preoccupation. Anyhow, all at once she laughed, and cried out, 'Well, when you get back...?' and, 'Perhaps,

rised, say that you are gl

what did it mean? W

's all. I have come home. Oh, que c'e

?-Yorkshire?

speak of bad dreams. I have forgotten it. I am here-in Paris-at home. Oh

ill, to flee before us and elude us; but sometimes, sometimes we catch

where he lived, where he worked, where

ember of the old set she had looked up. Of course I knew where she had gone first-but not to cry-to kiss it-to place flowers on it. She could not cry-not now

of key, 'Mais allons donc, paresseux! You must take me

n't know how you're blessed.' Presently we found ourselves labouring knee-deep in a wave of black pinafores, and Nina had plucked her bunch of violets from her breast, and was dropping them amongst eager fingers and rosy cherubic smiles. And it was constantly, 'Tiens, there's Madame Chose in her kiosque. Bonjour, madame. Vous allez toujours bien?' and 'Oh, look! old Perronet standing before his shop in his shirt-sleeves, exactly as he has stood at this hour every day, winter or summer, these ten years. Bonjour, M'sieu Perronet.' And you may be sure that the kindly French Choses and Perronets returne

unt, 'Eh bien, qu'est ce que c'est?' always without pausing in his work or looking round. Nina gave two little ahems, tense with suppressed mirth; and slowly, indifferently, Chalks turned an absent-minded face in our direction. But, next instant, there was a shout-a rush-a confusion of forms in the middle of the floor-and I realised that I was not the only one to be honoured by a

ery graceful concession to my sex. But, if you think it would relieve

hat evening quite twenty of us dined at Madam