[As HAWCASTLE speaks the COMTESSE DE CHAMPIGNY enters from hotel. She is
a pretty Frenchwoman of thirty-two. She wears a fashionable summer
Parisian morning dress, light and gay in color, a short-sleeved little
Empire jacket, and long gloves. She carries a parasol. Her elaborately
dressed hair is surmounted by a jaunty Parisian toque.]

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [lifting her hand gayly as she enters, and striking
a little attitude before she descends the steps]. Me voici!

HAWCASTLE [half rising and bowing]. My esteemed relative is still
asleep?

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [speaking gayly, with a very slight accent, as she
crosses to a chair at the table]. I trust your beautiful son has found
much better employment--as our hearts would wish him to.

HAWCASTLE. He has. He's off on a canter with the little American, thank
God!

MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY [interjecting the word]. Bravo!

[She turns the hands of her gloves back and sips coffee, MARIANO
serving.]

HAWCASTLE [continuing]. But I didn't mean Almeric. I meant my august
sister-in-law.

[He reads the paper.]