She poured down a draught of Pilsener, and set the empty glass beside her plate. “So you’re in the ‘nothing matters’ mood again, are you?” she said, looking critically at her companion.

            The latter smiled faintly. “Yes.”

            “Well, then—what are we staying here for? You needn’t sacrifice yourself for me, you know.”

            A lady, finishing her lunch, crossed the room, and in passing out stopped to speak to my neighbour. “Oh, Mrs. Ingram” (so her name was Ingram), “can’t we persuade you to join us at bridge when you’ve had your coffee?”

            Mrs. Ingram smiled, but shook her head. “Thank you so much. But you know I don’t play cards.”

            “Principles!” jerked out Miss Wilpert, wiping her rouged lips after a second glass of Pilsener. She waved her fat hand toward the retreating lady. “I’ll join up with you in half an hour,” she cried in a penetrating tone.

            “Oh, do,” said the lady with an indifferent nod.

            I had finished my lunch, drunk my coffee, and smoked more than my strict ration of cigarettes. There was no other excuse for lingering, and I got up and walked out of the restaurant. My friend Antoine, the head-waiter, was standing near the door, and in passing I let my lips shape the inaudible question: “The lady at the next table?”

            Antoine knew every one, and also every one’s history. I wondered why he hesitated for a moment before replying: “Ah—Mrs. Ingram? Yes. From California.”

            “Er—regular visitor?”

            “No. I think on her first trip to Europe.”

            “Ah. Then the other lady’s showing her about?”

            Antoine gave a shrug. “I think not. She seems also new.”

            “I like the table you’ve given me, Antoine,” I remarked; and he nodded compliantly.

            I was surprised, therefore, that when I came down to dinner that evening I had been assigned to another seat, on the farther side of the restaurant. I asked for Antoine, but it was his evening off, and the understudy who replaced him could only say that I had been moved by Antoine’s express orders. “Perhaps it was on account of the draught, sir.”

            “Draught be blowed! Can’t I be given back my table?”

            He was very sorry, but, as I could see, the table had been allotted to an infirm old lady, whom it would be difficult, and indeed impossible, to disturb.

            “Very well, then. At lunch tomorrow I shall expect to have it back,” I said severely.

            In looking back over the convalescent life, it is hard to recall the exaggerated importance every trifle assumes when there are only trifles to occupy one. I was furious at having had my place changed; and still more so when, the next day at lunch, Antoine, as a matter of course, conducted me to the table I had indignantly rejected the night before.

            “What does this mean? I told you I wanted to go back to that corner table—”

            Not a muscle moved in his non-committal yet all-communicating face. “So sorry, sir.”

            “Sorry? Why, you promised me—”

            “What can I do? Those ladies have our most expensive suite; and they’re here for the season.”

            “Well, what’s the matter with the ladies? I’ve no objection to them. They’re my compatriots.”

            Antoine gave me a spectral smile. “That appears to be the reason, sir.”

            “The reason? They’ve given you a reason for asking to have me moved?”

            “The big red one did. The other, Mrs. Ingram, as you can see, is quite different—though both are a little odd,” he added thoughtfully.

            “Well—the big red one?”

            “The dame de compagnie. You must excuse me, sir; but she says she doesn’t like Americans. And as the management are anxious to oblige Mrs. Ingram—”

            I gave a haughty laugh. “I see. Whereas a humble lodger like myself—But there are other hotels at Mont Soleil, you may remind the management from me.”

            “Oh, Monsieur, Monsieur—you can’t be so severe on a lady’s whim,” Antoine murmured reprovingly.

            Of course I couldn’t. Antoine’s advice was always educational.