"They spoke in French, Butts," I replied.
He shrugged his shoulders, and we waited for the bell. When it rang I took in the bowl of nut cream.
"Do you understand French, Brown?" demanded my master as soon as the door closed behind me.
"Not a word, sir."
"Very good. Serve the sweets, please."
A murmur of approval went round the table. The gentlemen ate their cream in silence, and washed it down with champagne. I refilled their glasses with the dexterity of an expert waiter, and I was about to resume my old place behind my master's chair, when he fixed me with his eyes, and addressed me suddenly in French. "Brown!" cried he, "leave the room this instant!"
I halted and looked at him with a stupid air. "Beg pardon, sir. Did you speak to me, sir?"
He smiled and answered in English. "Yes, Brown, fill my glass please. I forgot that you do not understand French!"
"You should have tested the fellow beforehand," said Sir Charles Venner in French. "The closer you approach your tomb, Dagmar, the more careless you become!"
"What does it matter," said my master wearily. "Pardoe, kindly present your report!"