The Count looked more puzzled than amused at this sally, but his politeness came to his rescue. A compliment is always the resource of a man of the world when a lady puzzles him.
"Eet ees only Madame Neleegaze to what belong eemortal youth," he said with a bow.
She rose and swept him a courtesy, and then took from her dress one of the flowers she was wearing, which chanced to be very portly red carnations.
"You are as gallant as ever, Count," she said, "so that your English doesn't matter. Besides that, you have a title; and American women love a title as a moth loves a candle."
She stuck the carnation into his buttonhole as she spoke, and returned to her seat, where she settled herself with the air of one ready for a serious chat.
"It is very odd to see you on this side of the Atlantic, Count," she remarked. "Tell me, what are you doing in this country,—besides taking the town by storm, that is?"
"I weell range my own self;—say you een Eengleesh 'arrange my own self'?"
"When it means you are going to marry, Count, it might be well to say that you are going to arrange yourself and derange somebody else. Is the lady Miss Endicott?"
"Eet ees Mees Endeecott. Ees she not good for me?"
"She is a thousand times too good for you, my dear fellow; but she is as poor as a church mouse."