pillars of that building.

"A man of action, and not of words," commented Martin, who spoke first.
"I like him. Come, let us go for our walk."

And Wanda said nothing. They rose and went away without speaking, though
they usually had plenty to say to each other. It almost seemed that
Cartoner's silence was contagious.

He, for his part, went into the Faubourg and crossed to the river side
of that wide street. It thus happened that he missed seeing Mr. Joseph
Mangles, sunning himself upon the more frequented pavement, and smoking
a contemplative cigar. Mr. Mangles would have stopped him had they met.
Paul Deulin was not far behind Mr. Mangles, idling past the shops, which
could scarcely have had much interest for the Parisian.

"Ah!" said the Frenchman to himself, "there is our friend Reginald. He
is in one of his silent humors. I can see that from this distance."

He turned on the pavement and watched Cartoner, who was walking rather
slowly.

"If any woman ever marries that man," the Frenchman said to himself,
"she will have to allow a great deal to go without saying. But, then,
women are good at that."

And he continued his leisurely contemplation of the dull shop-windows.

Cartoner walked on to his rooms in the Jasna, where he found letters
awaiting him. He read them, and then sat down to write one which was