"Turn up the lights," I said, and a servant turned them. "Shall I
say coffee and benedictine?" I whispered to Vandrift.

"By all means," he answered. "Anything to keep this fellow from
further impertinences! And, I say, don't you think you'd better
suggest at the same time that the men should smoke? Even these
ladies are not above a cigarette--some of them."

There was a sigh of relief. The lights burned brightly. The Seer for
the moment retired from business, so to speak. He accepted a partaga
with a very good grace, sipped his coffee in a corner, and chatted
to the lady who had suggested Strafford with marked politeness. He
was a polished gentleman.

Next morning, in the hall of the hotel, I saw Madame Picardet again,
in a neat tailor-made travelling dress, evidently bound for the
railway-station.

"What, off, Madame Picardet?" I cried.

She smiled, and held out her prettily-gloved hand. "Yes, I'm off,"
she answered archly. "Florence, or Rome, or somewhere. I've drained
Nice dry--like a sucked orange. Got all the fun I can out of it.
Now I'm away again to my beloved Italy."

But it struck me as odd that, if Italy was her game, she went by the
omnibus which takes down to the train de luxe for Paris. However,
a man of the world accepts what a lady tells him, no matter how
improbable; and I confess, for ten days or so, I thought no more
about her, or the Seer either.