Yet at the same time I was wondering who Mlle. Delhasse might chance to
be: the name seemed familiar to me, and yet for the moment I could not
trace it. And then I slapped my thigh in the impulse of my discovery.

"By Jove, Marie Delhasse the singer!" cried I, in English.

"Sir, sir, for Heaven's sake be quiet!" whispered Suzanne.

"You are perfectly right," said I, with a nod of approbation.

"And this is the pantry," said Suzanne, for all the world as though
nothing had happened. "And in that cupboard you will find Sampson's
livery."

"Is it a pretty one?" I asked.

"You, sir, will look well in it," said she, with that delicate evasive
flattery that I love. "Would not you, sir, look well in anything?" she
meant.

And while I changed my traveling suit for the livery, I remembered more
about Marie Delhasse, and, among other things, that the Duke of
Saint-Maclou was rumored to be her most persistent admirer. Some said that
she favored him; others denied it with more or less conviction and
indignation. But, whatever might chance to be the truth about that, it was
plain that the duchess had something to say for herself when she declined
to receive the lady. Her refusal was no idle freak, but a fixed
determination, to which she would probably adhere. And, in fact, adhere to
it she did, even under some considerable changes of circumstance.