Basserive, has offenced Madame, who, I see, is your wife. I cannot ask
your pardon for my mother; what she does is right in my eyes. But I am
ready to offer you the usual reparation between men of honour."

The young man drew up his slim stature to its full height and looked
very enthusiastic, very proud, and very hot as he gazed at six foot odd
of gorgeousness, as represented by Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart.

"Lud, Sir Andrew," said Marguerite, with one of her merry infectious
laughs, "look on that pretty picture--the English turkey and the French
bantam."

The simile was quite perfect, and the English turkey looked down with
complete bewilderment upon the dainty little French bantam, which
hovered quite threateningly around him.

"La! sir," said Sir Percy at last, putting up his eye glass and
surveying the young Frenchman with undisguised wonderment, "where, in
the cuckoo's name, did you learn to speak English?"

"Monsieur!" protested the Vicomte, somewhat abashed at the way his
warlike attitude had been taken by the ponderous-looking Englishman.

"I protest 'tis marvellous!" continued Sir Percy, imperturbably, "demmed
marvellous! Don't you think so, Tony--eh? I vow I can't speak the French
lingo like that. What?"

"Nay, I'll vouch for that!" rejoined Marguerite, "Sir Percy has a
British accent you could cut with a knife."