“Couldn’t I hide in the bushes?” I asked.
“I hate anything that looks suspicious,” remarked the duchess, still quite calm; “and if he happened to see you, it would look rather suspicious! And he has got eyes like a cat’s for anything of that sort.”
There was no denying that it would look suspicious if I were caught hiding in the bushes. I sat silent, having no other suggestion to make.
Suzanne, with a readiness not born, I hope, of practice, came to the rescue with a clever suggestion.
“The English groom whom madame dismissed a week ago—” said she. “Why should not the gentleman pass as the groom? The man would not take his old clothes away, for he had bought new ones, and they are still here. The gentleman would put them on and walk past—voilà.”
“Can you look like a groom?” asked the duchess. “If he speaks to you, make your French just a little worse”—and she smiled.
They were all so calm and businesslike that it would have seemed disobliging and absurd to make difficulties.
“We can send your luggage soon, you know,” said the duchess. “You had better hide Mr. Aycon’s luggage in your room, Suzanne. Really, I am afraid you ought to be getting ready, Mr. Aycon.”
The point of view again! By virtue of the duchess’ calmness and Suzanne’s cool readiness, the proceeding seemed a most ordinary one. Five minutes later I presented myself to the duchess, dressed in a villainous suit of clothes, rather too tight for me, and wearing a bad hat rakishly cocked over one eye. The duchess surveyed me with great curiosity.
“Fortunately the duke is not a very clever man,” said she. “Oh, by the way, your name’s George Sampson, and you come from Newmarket; and you are leaving because you took more to drink than was good for you. Good-by, Mr. Aycon. I do hope that we shall meet again under pleasanter circumstances.”