"Yes--you know Madame Durrand?"

The Marquis nodded. "I have met her several times."

"I'm glad!" said she. "It may help me to prove my case."

"Madame is her own proof," was the answer.

For which answer he drew such a smile from Edith Clephane that in
comparison the secretary's smile was simply as nothing.

"Your Excellency overwhelms me," she replied. "I'm positively trembling
with apprehension lest I fail to--" she dropped into English--"make
good."

He laughed lightly. "You will make good!" he replied, also in English,
"Pray proceed."

And Mrs. Clephane told him the whole story, from the time she met Madame
Durrand on the steamer to the present moment--omitting only the
immaterial personal portions occurring between Harleston and herself,
and the fact that his taxi had escorted hers until she was at the
Embassy.

Her narrative was punctuated throughout by the Marquis's constant
exclamations of wonder or interest; but further than exclaiming, in the
nervous French way, he made no interruption.

And on the whole, she told her story well; at first she was a little