It was almost dusk when he went out; most of the shops in Sloane Street had their windows lit.  He set about this further task of his with an eager delight.  For although it was ostensibly for Natalie’s mother that he was buying this and buying that, there was an underlying consciousness that Natalie herself would be pleased—­that many and many a time she would occupy that pretty little sitting-room, that perhaps she might guess who it was who had been so thoughtful about her mother and herself.  Fortunately Sloane Street is an excellent shopping thoroughfare; he got everything he wanted—­even wax candles of the proper tint of red.  He first of all went to the florist’s and got fruit and flowers enough to decorate a hall.  Then from shop to shop he wandered, buying books here, a couple of lamps there, a low, softly-cushioned easy-chair, a fire-screen, pastils, tins of sweet biscuits, a dozen or two of Hungarian wine, a tea-making apparatus, a box of various games, some white rose scent, and he was very near adding a sewing-machine, but thought he would wait to see whether she understood the use of that instrument.  All these and many other articles were purchased on the explicit condition that they were to be delivered in Hans Place within the following half-hour.

Then he went back to the lodging-house, carrying in his hand the red candles.  These he placed himself in the sconces, and lit them; the effect was good, now that the fire was blazing cheerfully.  One by one the things arrived; and gradually the lodging-house sitting-room grew more and more like a home.  He put the flowers here and there about the place, the little Frenchwoman having brought him such, small jars and vases as were in her possession—­these fortunately including a couple of bits of modern Venetian glass.  The reading-lamp was lit and put on the small table; the newly imported easy-chair was drawn to the fire; some books and the evening papers scattered about.  He lit one of the pastils, put the fire-screen in its place, and had a last look round.

Then he got into a hansom and drove up to the house in the Edgware Road.  He was immediately admitted and shown up-stairs.  Natalie’s mother rose to receive him; he fancied she had been crying.

“I am come to take you to your new rooms,” he said, cheerfully.  “They are better than these.”

“Ah, that is kind of you,” she said, also speaking in French; “but in truth what do I care where I am?  My heart is full of joy.  It is enough for me to sit quiet and say to myself, ’My child loves me.  She has not turned away from me.  She is more beautiful even than I had believed; and she has a good heart.  I have no longer any fear.’”

“Yes, madame,” said he, “but you must not sit quiet and think like that, or you will become ill, and then how are you to go out walking with Natalie?  You have many things to do, and many things to decide on.  For example, you will have to explain to her how it is you may not go to her father’s house.  At this moment what other thing than that do you imagine she is thinking about?  She will ask you.”