for a lady's-maid to run away, or to take the rough chaff
good-humouredly, and make the best of it. I fluttered, undecided, never
thinking of the old adage concerning the woman who hesitates.

In an instant, it was forcibly recalled to my mind, for Number One
chauffeur, smelling strongly of the good red wine of Provence, came
forward and offered me his arm.

This was too much.

"Please don't!" I stammered, in my confusion speaking English.

"_Ah, Mademoiselle est Anglaise!_" the two others exclaimed, "_Vive
l'entente cordiale!_ We are Frenchmen. You are Italian. She belongs to
our side."

"Let her choose," said the handsome Italian, pointing his moustache and
doing such execution upon me with his splendid eyes, that if they'd been
Maxim guns I should have fallen riddled with bullets.

"I'll sit by nobody," I managed to answer, this time in French. "Please
take your seats. I will have a chair at the other end of the table."

"You see, mademoiselle is too polite to choose between us. She's afraid
of a duel," laughed good-looking Number One. "I tell you what we must
do. We'll draw lots for her. Three pellets of bread. The biggest wins."

"Beg your pardon, monsieur," remarked Mr. Dane, whom I hadn't seen as he
opened the door, "mademoiselle is of my party. She is waiting for me."