"Shall I call a gendarme, Monsieur, and have him search for your
nurse?" The attitude which accompanied these words was anything
but assuring.

He, however, evinced no alarm. He even laughed. "That was good!
We shall get along finely, I am sure."

"Monsieur," she said, rising, "I repeat that I do not desire
your company, nor to remain in the presence of your unspeakable
effrontery."

"I beseech you!" implored Maurice, also rising. "I am a
foreigner, lonesome, unhappy, thousands of miles from home--"

"You are English?" suddenly. She stood with the knuckle of her
forefinger on her lips as if meditating. She sat down.

Maurice, greatly surprised, also sat down.

"English?" he repeated. His thought was: "What the deuce! This
is the third time I have been asked that. Who is this gay
Lothario the women seem to be expecting?" To her he continued:
"And why do you ask me that?"

"Perhaps it is your accent. And what do you wish to say to me,
Monsieur?" It was a voice of quality; all the anger had gone
from it. She leaned on her elbows, her chin in her palms, and
through the veil he caught the sparkle of a pair of wonderful
eyes. "Let us converse in English," she added. "It is so long