"But this year, monsieur."
"And you already speak the tongue of the savages!"
I nearly fell into this trap, but bethought myself of the danger in time.
"Oh, no, monsieur; only a word here and there."
"But this savage of yours?"
"Oh, he is like a dog. So faithful, so devoted! And he learns French readily, too."
"Humph!" growled Joncaire again. "And where do you come from, Jean?"
Something in his speech warned me—the liquid slurr of the South.
"I, monsieur?" I replied innocently. "Oh, I am of Picardy. But monsieur is of the South—no? of Provence?"
All the suspicion fled from Joncaire's face, and in its stead blossomed a broad smile.