M. Lacordaire might be senior in age to Mrs. Thompson by about ten
years, nor had he about him any of the airs or graces of a would-be
young man. His hair, which he wore very short, was grizzled, as was
also the small pretence of a whisker which came down about as far as
the middle of his ear; but the tuft on his chin was still brown,
without a gray hair. His eyes were bright and tender, his voice was
low and soft, his hands were very white, his clothes were always new
and well fitting, and a better-brushed hat could not be seen out of
Paris, nor perhaps in it.

Now, during the weeks which Mrs. Thompson had passed at La Puy, the
acquaintance which she had formed with M. Lacordaire had progressed
beyond the prolonged meals in the salle a manger. He had
occasionally sat beside her evening table as she took her English
cup of tea in her own room, her bed being duly screened off in its
distant niche by becoming curtains; and then he had occasionally
walked beside her, as he civilly escorted her to the lions of the
place; and he had once accompanied her, sitting on the back seat of
a French voiture, when she had gone forth to see something of the
surrounding country.

On all such occasions she had been accompanied by one of her
daughters, and the world of Le Puy had had nothing material to say
against her. But still the world of Le Puy had whispered a little,
suggesting that M. Lacordaire knew very well what he was about. But
might not Mrs. Thompson also know as well what she was about? At
any rate, everything had gone on very pleasantly since the
acquaintance had been made. And now, so much having been explained,
we will go back to the elaborate breakfast at the Hotel des
Ambassadeurs.