could not, of course. He was as much used to being purred to as my aunt
to looking down on non-county persons. He seemed to think I was making
an incomprehensible insular joke, and laughed non-committally. It
wouldn't have been possible to let him know he wasn't wanted.

"Oh, you needn't be afraid of my brother," she said suddenly. "He is
quite harmless. He is even going to give up writing for the papers
except when we want him."

The Duc turned from me to her, smiled and bowed. His smile was inane,
but he bowed very well; he had been groomed into that sort of thing or
had it in the blood.

"We work together still?" he asked.

"Why not?" she answered.

A hubbub of angry voices raised itself behind my back. It was one of the
_contretemps_ that made the Salon Grangeur famous throughout the city.

"You forced yourself upon me. Did I say anywhere that you were
responsible? If it resembles your particular hell upon earth, what is
that to me? You do worse things; you, yourself, monsieur. Haven't I seen
... haven't I seen it?"

The Duc de Mersch looked swiftly over his shoulder toward the window.

"They seem to be angry there," he said nervously. "Had not something
better be done, Miss Granger?"