indeed Pistoiese (what though the polyglot races of Italy have agreed
upon it as a lingua franca) offered the greater difficulties to his
Lombardian tongue,--replied in French.

"I do not think so, Madame," was his reply, in a French sufficiently
heavy and stiff-jointed, enforced by a dubious oscillation of the head.

Lady Blanchemain's black eyebrows shot upwards, marking her surprise;
then drew together, marking her determination.

"But of course one can--it's in the guide-book," she insisted, and held
up the red-bound volume.

The sceptic gave a shrug, as one who disclaimed responsibility and
declined discussion.

"Me, I do not think so. But patience! I will go and ask," he said; and,
turning his back, faded from sight in the depths of the dark tunnel-like
porte-cochère.

Vexed, perplexed, Lady Blanchemain fidgeted a little. To have taken this
long drive for nothing!--sweet though the weather was, fair though the
valley: but she was not a person who could let the means excuse the end.
She neither liked nor was accustomed to see her enterprises balked,--to
see doors remain closed in her face. Doors indeed had a habit of flying
open at her approach. Besides, the fellow's manner,--his initial stare
and silence, his tone when he spoke, his shrug, his exhortation to
patience, and something too in the conduct of his back as he
departed,--hadn't it lacked I don't know what of becoming deference? to
satisfy her amour-propre, at any rate, that the mistake, if there was a