He was very much more modest about this achievement than we were.  My mother’s pride was delicious to witness.  You see, it also invested me with a very farsighted wisdom!  Here was it proven to all that Father De Rance had been right in holding fast to the man who had come to him in such sorry plight.

I suppose it was this which moved Madame to take the step she had long been contemplating.  Knowing her Butterfly Man, she began with infinite wile.

“Armand,” said she, one bright morning in early November, “I am going to entertain, too—­everybody else has done so, and now it’s my turn.  The weather is so ideal, and my garden so gorgeous with all those chrysanthemums and salvias and geraniums and roses, that it would be sinful not to take advantage of such conditions.

“I have saved enough out of my house-money to meet the expenses—­and I am not going to be charitable and do my Christian duty with that money!  I’m going to entertain.  I really owe that much attention to Mary Virginia.”  She laid her hand on my arm.  “I must see John Flint; go over to his rooms, and bring him back with you.”

I thought she merely needed his help and counsel, for she is always consulting him; she considers that whatever barque is steered by John Flint must needs come home to harbor.  He obeyed her summons with alacrity, for it delights him to assist Madame.  He did not know what fate overshadowed him!

My mother sat in her low rocker, a lace apron lending piquancy to her appearance.  She looked unusually pretty—­there wasn’t a girl in Appleboro who didn’t envy Madame De Rance’s complexion.

“Well,” said the Butterfly Man cheerfully, unconsciously falling under the spell of this feminine charm, “the Padre tells me there’s a party in the wind.  Good!  Now what am I to do?  How am I to help you out?”

My mother leaned forward and compelled him to meet direct her eyes that were friendly and clear and candid as a child’s.

“Mr. Flint,” said she artlessly, ignoring his questions, “Mr. Flint, you’ve been with Armand and me quite a long time now, have you not?”

“A couple of lifetimes,” said he, wonderingly.

“A couple of lifetimes,” she mused, still holding his eyes, “is a fairly long time.  Long enough, at least, to know and to be known, shouldn’t you think?”

He awaited enlightenment.  He never asks unnecessary questions.

“I am going,” said my mother, with apparent irrelevance, “to entertain in honor of Mary Virginia Eustis.  I shall probably have all Appleboro here.  I sent for you to explain that you and Armand are to be present, too.”

The Butterfly Man almost fell out of his chair.

“Me?” he gasped.

“You,” with deadly softness.  “You.”

Horror and anguish encompassed him.  Perspiration appeared on his forehead, and he gripped the arms of his chair as one bracing himself for torture.  He looked at the little lady with the terror of one to whom the dentist has just said:  “That jaw tooth must come out at once.  Open your mouth wider, please, so I can get a grip!”