Scipion and Dubroca escorted Mme. De l'Isle across to her beautiful
gates, and Chester, not in dream but in fact, with M. De l'Isle and
Mme. Alexandre following well in the rear, walked with mademoiselle to
the high fence and green batten wicket of her olive-scented garden in
the rue Bourbon. So walking, and urged by him, she began to tell of
matters in her father's life, the old Hotel St. Louis life before hers
began--matters that gave to "The Clock in the Sky" and "The Angel of
the Lord" a personal interest beyond all academic values.

"We'll finish about that another time," she said, and with "another
time" singing in his heart like a taut wire he verily enjoyed the
rasping of the wicket's big lock as he turned away.

The week wore round. Except M. De l'Isle, kept away by a meeting of
the Athénée Louisianais, all were regathered; one thing alone delayed
the reading. Each of the three women had separately asked her father
confessor how far one might justly--well--lie--to those seeking the
truth only for cruel and wicked ends. But as no two had received the
same answer, and as Chester's uncle was gone to his reward--or
penalty--the question was early tabled. "Well," Mme. Castanado said:
"'And so we went--' in the coach. Go on, read."




XIII

And so we went, not through the town but around it.

My attendants were heavy with sleep. Seating Rebecca next me I called