hard. He hissed "Idiot!" and "Imbecile!" and "Jackass!" as many times
as there are knives and forks and spoons at a course dinner. It was
when they came to the wines that Pierre became mollified. He was
forced to acknowledge that the new groom needed no instructions as to
the varying temperatures of clarets and burgundies. Warburton longed
to get out into the open and yell. It was very funny. He managed,
however, on third rehearsal, to acquit himself with some credit. They
returned to the kitchen again, where they found Celeste nibbling
crackers and cheese. She smiled.

"Ha!" The vowel was given a prolonged roll. "So, Mademoiselle, you
haf to come and look on, eh?"

"Is there any objection, Monsieur?" retorted Celeste in her native
tongue, making handsome eyes at Warburton, who was greatly amused.

"Ha! if he was hideous, would you be putting on those ribbons I gave
you to wear on Sundays?" snarled Pierre.

Warburton followed their French without any difficulty. It was the
French of the Parisian, with which he was fairly conversant. But his
face remained impassive and his brows only mildly curious.

"I shall throw them away, Monsieur Flageot, if you dare to talk to me
like that. He _is_ handsome, and you are jealous, and I am glad.
You behaved horribly to that coarse Nanon last Sunday. Because she
scrubs the steps of the French embassy you consider her above me,
_me!_"

"You are crazy!" roared Pierre. "You introduced me to her so that you