She never did, and he liked her none the less for that. Somehow, up to
this time, he had always thought that he would get well, and to-morrow he
would probably think so again; but just for the moment he felt the real
truth.

Presently she said (they spoke in French):

"Why is it you like our old kitchen so much? It isn't nearly as nice as
the parlour."

"Well, it's a place to live in, anyhow; and I fancy you all feel more at
home there than anywhere else."

"I feel just as much at home in the parlour as there," she retorted.

"Oh, no, I think not. The room one lives in the most is the room for any
one's money."

She looked at him in a puzzled way. Too many sensations were being born
in her all at once; but she did recognise that he was not trying to
subtract anything from the pomp of the Lavilettes.

He belonged to a world that she did not know--and yet he was so perfectly
at home with her, so idly easygoing.

"Did you ever live in a castle?" she asked eagerly. "Yes," he said,
with a dry little laugh. Then, after a moment, with the half-abstracted
manner of a man who is recalling a long-forgotten scene, he added: "I
lived in the North Tower, looking out on Farcalladen Moor. When I wasn't