“Mon ami,” said Poirot, in his gentle ironical voice, “is it that we are to remain planted here all night—just because you have seen a beautiful young woman, and your head is in a whirl?”
I laughed and apologized.
“But she is beautiful, Poirot. Any one might be excused for being bowled over by her.”
Poirot groaned.
“Mon Dieu! But it is that you have the susceptible heart!”
“Poirot,” I said, “do you remember after the Styles Case when—”
“When you were in love with two charming women at once, and neither of them were for you? Yes, I remember.”
“You consoled me by saying that perhaps some day we should hunt together again, and that then—”
“Eh bien?”
“Well, we are hunting together again, and—” I paused, and laughed rather self-consciously.