"But monsieur could not mean it. Monsieur will call at the chateau in
the morning"--the complacent varlet prophesied--"as early as it will be
polite. I am sure of that. Monsieur is not at all an old man; no, not
yet! Even if he were, aha! no one could possess the friendship of that
wonderful Madame d'Armand and remain away from the chateau."

"Madame d'Armand?" I said. "That is not the name. You mean Mademoiselle
Ward."

"No, no!" He shook his head and his fat cheeks bulged with a smile which
I believe he intended to express a respectful roguishness. "Mademoiselle
Ward" (he pronounced it "Ware") "is magnificent; every one must fly to
obey when she opens her mouth. If she did not like the ocean there below
the chateau, the ocean would have to move! It needs only a glance to
perceive that Mademoiselle Ward is a great lady--but MADAME D'ARMAND!
AHA!" He rolled his round eyes to an effect of unspeakable admiration,
and with a gesture indicated that he would have kissed his hand to the
stars, had that been properly reverential to Madame d'Armand. "But
monsieur knows very well for himself!"

"Monsieur knows that you are very confusing--even for a maitre d'hotel.
We were speaking of the present chatelaine of Quesnay, Mademoiselle
Ward. I have never heard of Madame d'Armand."

"Monsieur is serious?"

"Truly!" I answered, making bold to quote his shibboleth.

"Then monsieur has truly much to live for. Truly!" he chuckled openly,