"Professor," he said, when somewhat better, "I have come to
ask you about a lady. A friend of mine has fallen in love
with her, and he thought you might know of her."

"Eh, wha-a-at, mon cher? I understands nozzin', Ze lady.
Cruel nom?"

"Maraquito Gredos."

"Espagnole," murmured Le Beau, shaking his wig. "Non. I do
not know ze name. Dancers of Spain. Ah, yis--I haf had
miny--zey are not steef like ze cochon Englees. Describe ze
looks, mon ami."

Jennings did so, to the best of his ability, but the old man
still appeared undecided. "But she has been ill for three
years," added Jennings. "She fell and hurt her back, and--"

"Eh--wha-a-at Celestine!" cried Le Beau excitedly. "She did
fall and hurt hersilf--eh, yis--mos' dredfil. Conceive to
yoursilf, my frien', she slip on orange peels in ze streets
and whacks comes she down. Tree year back--yis--tree
year. Celestine Durand, mon fil."

Jennings wondered. "But she says she is Spanish."

Le Beau flipped a pinch of snuff in the air. "Ah, bah! She
no Spain."