convinced that he had obtained a marked advantage in a conflict of wits,
shaking his big head from side to side with an exasperating air of
knowingness. "Ah, truly! When that lady drives by, some day, in the
carriage from the chateau--eh? Then monsieur will see how much he has to
live for. Truly, truly, truly!"

He had cleared the table, and now, with a final explosion of the word
which gave him such immoderate satisfaction, he lifted the tray and made
one of his precipitate departures.

"Amedee," I said, as he slackened down to his sidelong leisure.

"Monsieur?"

"Who is Madame d'Armand?"

"A guest of Mademoiselle Ward at Quesnay. In fact, she is in charge of
the chateau, since Mademoiselle Ward is, for the time, away."

"Is she a Frenchwoman?"

"It seems not. In fact, she is an American, though she dresses with so
much of taste. Ah, Madame Brossard admits it, and Madame Brossard knows
the art of dressing, for she spends a week of every winter in Rouen--and
besides there is Trouville itself only some kilometres distant. Madame
Brossard says that Mademoiselle Ward dresses with richness and splendour
and Madame d'Armand with economy, but beauty. Those were the words used
by Madame Brossard. Truly."

"Madame d'Armand's name is French," I observed.