"Do you know him well?"

"I don't know what he is driving at," he answered drily. "But as
to his mother she is not as volatile as all that. I suspect it was
business. It may have been a deep plot to get a picture out of
Allegre for somebody. My cousin as likely as not. Or simply to
discover what he had. The Blunts lost all their property and in
Paris there are various ways of making a little money, without
actually breaking anything. Not even the law. And Mrs. Blunt
really had a position once--in the days of the Second Empire--and
so. . ."

I listened open-mouthed to these things into which my West-Indian
experiences could not have given me an insight. But Mills checked
himself and ended in a changed tone.

"It's not easy to know what she would be at, either, in any given
instance. For the rest, spotlessly honourable. A delightful,
aristocratic old lady. Only poor."

A bump at the door silenced him and immediately Mr. John Blunt,
Captain of Cavalry in the Army of Legitimity, first-rate cook (as
to one dish at least), and generous host, entered clutching the
necks of four more bottles between the fingers of his hand.

"I stumbled and nearly smashed the lot," he remarked casually. But
even I, with all my innocence, never for a moment believed he had
stumbled accidentally. During the uncorking and the filling up of
glasses a profound silence reigned; but neither of us took it