"Then I will ask your permission to accompany you. I, too, have put on a
new hat. I am idle. I want something to do. Mon Dieu, I want to talk to
a clean and wholesome Englishwoman, just for a change. I know all your
old chiefs, my friend. I know where you have been every moment since you
made your mark at this business. One watches the quiet men--eh?"

"She will be glad to see you," said Cartoner, with his slow smile.

"Ah! She is always kind, that lady; for I guess where we are going. She
might have been a great woman . . . if she had not been a happy one."

"I always go to see them when I am in town," said Cartoner, who usually
confined his conversation to the necessaries of daily intercourse.

"And he--how is he?"

"He is as well as can be expected. He has worked so hard and so long in
many climates. She is always anxious about him."

"It is the penalty a woman pays," said Deulin. "To love and to be
consumed by anxiety--a woman's life, my friend. Oddly enough, I should
have gone there this afternoon, whether I had met you or not. I want her
good services--again."

And the Frenchman shrugged his shoulders with a laugh, as if suddenly
reminded of some grievous error in his past life.

"I want her to befriend some friends of mine, if she has not done so
already. For she knows them, of course. They are the Bukatys. Of course,
you know the history of the Bukatys of Warsaw."