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Updated: June 24, 2025
"There are many ladies, without a doubt, who live in the Avenue de St. Paul." "The name of this one," Estermen continued slowly, "is Madame Christophor." Herr Freudenberg sat quite still in his place. His eyes seemed fixed upon a cluster of the roses which hung down from the other side of the sweet-smelling barrier by which they were surrounded.
From the little chapel, as the car rolled up the avenue, came the slow tolling of a bell. Madame Christophor stood on the corner of the lawn alone. The invalid chair was empty. The blinds of the villa were being slowly lowered. She turned around and looked toward the city. It seemed to her that she could see into the rooms of the man whom she had left a few minutes ago.
"You asked me a question a short time ago," he remarked. "Let me ask you the same. Have you never cared for any one?" "I cared once for my husband." "You have been married?" "Most certainly. I lived with my husband for two years." "And now?" he persisted. "We are separated. You really do not know my other name?" "I have never heard you called anything but Madame Christophor."
"I'm not going to leave your side till we're through with this little job." "Madame Christophor suggested that I should go there and finish," Julien said. "What do you think of that?" "Madame Fiddlesticks!" Kendricks retorted angrily. "The wife of Falkenberg! Do you want to walk into the lion's jaws?" "She is separated from her husband," Julien reminded him.
"I wonder," she murmured, "if I shall like Madame Christophor?" "I had no idea, Julien," the Duchess remarked, "that you were friendly with her." Julien evaded the question. "At any rate," he said, turning to Anne, "this will be better for you than making bows." "I suppose so," she assented. "All the same, I am very much my own mistress in that dusty little workshop.
"As a matter of fact," he told her, "I have just left the lady whose advertisement you answered." "Madame Christophor?" "Madame Christophor. If you are really anxious for that post, I can assure you that it is yours." She flung the hat to the other end of the room. "Good!" she exclaimed. "I don't think this sort of thing is in my line at all.
Madame Christophor looked at him across the room, and in her eyes there was no welcome nor any anger only surprise. "You break," she reminded him, "the word of a prince!" Falkenberg smiled icily. "There are cataclysms in life," he said, "whirlpools into which one may sometimes be drawn. One's will is overborne. I myself am in that unfortunate position."
Lady Anne was the first to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. She listened. It was not Madame Christophor who returned. She laid her hand upon Julien's arm. "It is Jean, the butler, who comes," she whispered. "He conducts some one." On the threshold of the winter-garden, only a short distance away, they heard Jean's voice.
Suddenly he was conscious that an automobile had drawn up close to the curbstone by his side. The footman sprang lightly down and accosted him. "Monsieur," he announced, "Madame Christophor has sent her automobile. She would be happy to receive you at once." Julien glanced inside the automobile. It was daintily upholstered in white.
A round table was laid for two in front of an open window, which looked out upon a lawn smooth and velvety, with here and there little flower-beds, and in the middle a gray stone fountain. Madame Christophor came in almost at the same moment from the garden.
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