As we resumed our seats Colonel Menendez lay back with half-closed
eyes, his glance following the chair and its occupant until both were
swallowed up in the shadows of the big drawing room.

"Madame de Staemer is a very remarkable woman," said Paul Harley.

"Remarkable?" replied the Colonel. "The spirit of all the old chivalry
of France is imprisoned within her, I think."

He passed cigarettes around, of a long kind resembling cheroots and
wrapped in tobacco leaf. I thought it strange that having thus
emphasized Madame's nationality he did not feel it incumbent upon him
to explain the mystery of their kinship. However, he made no attempt to
do so, and almost before we had lighted up, a racy little two-seater
was driven around the gravel path by Carter, the chauffeur who had
brought us to Cray's Folly from London.

The man descended and began to arrange wraps and cushions, and a few
moments later back came Madame again, dressed for driving. Carter was
about to lift her into the car when Colonel Menendez stood up and
advanced.

"Sit down, Juan, sit down!" said Madame, sharply.

A look of keen anxiety, I had almost said of pain, leapt into her eyes,
and the Colonel hesitated.

"How often must I tell you," continued the throbbing voice, "that you
must not exert yourself."