"Misfortune is lending you a tongue, at any rate," he retorted.
"As yet," she objected, "I know nothing of misfortune. The impulse which led me to chuck things was just the most wonderful thing that ever came to me in life. I awoke this morning feeling like a freed woman. I sang while I got up. It seemed to me that I had never seen anything so beautiful as the view of Paris from my poky window. And I got up without a maid, too, Julien. I had no perfectly equipped bathroom to wander into. Not much luxury about these rooms of Janette's."
He glanced at her admiringly.
"You certainly look as though the life agreed with you," he answered.
"Put on your hat and come out to dinner."
She rose to her feet at once.
"I have been praying for that," she confessed. "You know, Julien, I should starve badly. The one thing I can't get rid of is my appetite. You don't expect me to make a toilette, because I can't?"
"Nothing of the sort," he assured her. "Come as you are."
She kept him waiting barely five minutes. She was still wearing her smart traveling suit and the little toque which she had worn when she left home. She walked down the street with him, humming gayly.
"Have you read the English papers this morning, Julien?" she asked.
"Not thoroughly," he admitted.