"Can you look like a groom?" asked the duchess. "If he speaks to you, make
your French just a _little_ worse"--and she smiled.

They were all so calm and businesslike that it would have seemed
disobliging and absurd to make difficulties.

"We can send your luggage soon, you know," said the duchess. "You had
better hide Mr. Aycon's luggage in your room, Suzanne. Really, I am afraid
you ought to be getting ready, Mr. Aycon."

The point of view again! By virtue of the duchess' calmness and Suzanne's
cool readiness, the proceeding seemed a most ordinary one. Five minutes
later I presented myself to the duchess, dressed in a villainous suit of
clothes, rather too tight for me, and wearing a bad hat rakishly cocked
over one eye. The duchess surveyed me with great curiosity.

"Fortunately the duke is not a very clever man," said she. "Oh, by the
way, your name's George Sampson, and you come from Newmarket; and you are
leaving because you took more to drink than was good for you. Good-by, Mr.
Aycon. I do hope that we shall meet again under pleasanter circumstances."

"They could not be pleasanter--but they might be more prolonged," said I.

"It was so good of you to come," she said, pressing my hand.

"The carriage is but a quarter of a mile off!" cried Suzanne warningly.

"How very annoying it is! I wish to Heaven the Algerians had eaten the
duke!"