could tell; but, when he again presented himself at the reception, he
had a preoccupied air, almost a shamefaced look, and he cast around him
a glance of uneasiness.

The bell rang for tea. The manservant appeared. Madame Anserre, with a
smile, seized the dish, casting a look about her for her young friend;
but he had fled so precipitately that no trace of him could be seen any
longer. Then, she went looking everywhere for him, and ere long she
discovered him in the Salon of the Agriculturists. With his arm locked
in that of the husband, he was consulting that gentleman as to the means
employed for destroying phylloxera.

"My dear Monsieur," she said to him, "will you be so kind as to cut this
cake for me?"

He reddened to the roots of his hair, and hanging down his head,
stammered out some excuses. Thereupon M. Anserre took pity on him, and
turning toward his wife, said:

"My dear, you might have the goodness not to disturb us. We are talking
about agriculture. So get your cake cut by Baptiste."

And since that day nobody has ever cut Madame Anserre's cake.




THE CORSICAN BANDIT