"This will introduce to you Monsieur Ferraud, of the butterfly fame.
He has learned of the success of your efforts in the West Indies and
South America and is eager to see your collection. Do what you can for
him. I know you will, for you certainly must have his book. I myself
do not know a butterfly from a June-bug, but it will be a pleasure to
bring you two together."


Breitmann arranged his papers neatly and waited to be dismissed. He
had seen M. Ferraud at Swan's, but had formed no opinion regarding him;
in fact, the growth of his interest had stopped at indifference. On
his part, the new arrival never so much as gave the secretary a second
glance--the first was sufficient. And while the admiral read on, M.
Ferraud examined the broken skin on his palms.

"Mr. Ferraud! Well, well; this is a great honor, I'm sure. It was
very kind of them to send you here. Where is your luggage?"

"I am stopping at Swan's Hotel."

"We shall have your things up this very night."

"Oh!" said Ferraud, in protest; though this was the very thing he
desired.

"Not a word!" The admiral summoned the butler, who was the general
factotem at The Pines, and gave a dozen orders.

"Ah, you Americans!" laughed M. Ferraud, pyramiding his ringers. "You
leave us breathless."