" "Mr. “Twenty-two. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. To-night we leave for Marseilles. "You know this is a pet project. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. I awaken easily. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. “My friends,” she said, “my dear friends, I am going to make the same answer to all of you—and that is perhaps you will say no answer at all. But you—you have a good face.
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