Kenneth bit his lip. Quickly he said:
"I'm sorry he saw that. It was careless of me to leave it around. Are you sure he was reading it?"
"He had a pencil and paper in hand and appeared to be copying from the letter. When he saw me, he crushed the paper up in his hand and turned away."
Kenneth gave an expressive whistle.
"The deuce you say! The fellow's smarter than I took him to be. All the more reason why I should take him along with me. Then I'm sure he can't tell tales out of school. I——. Hush, here he is!"
The door opened cautiously and there entered a man about thirty years of age, of medium height and slightly, even delicately, built. That he was a Frenchman was apparent even at a glance. The dark closely cropped hair, worn in the so-called pompadour or military style, the pale, saturnine features, the manner and general bearing all loudly proclaimed his Gallic nationality. His smooth shaven face showed a firm mouth with bloodless lips so thin as to be hardly perceptible. His eyes, when they could be seen at all, were greenish in color, and small and restless as those of a ferret. He advanced into the room with the obsequious deferential manner which in all well-trained servants becomes second nature, moving across the thickly carpeted floor with the rapidity and noiselessness of a snake.
"Where have you been, François?" demanded Kenneth sharply.
The valet stopped short, as if struck by a blow, but he did not stand still. His nervous thin hands and lean body were in constant motion, although he did not stir from the one spot. In every involuntary movement and gesture there was something that suggested the feline. When spoken to or given an order he replied respectfully and obeyed with alacrity, but when addressed he listened always with eyes averted. This had always exasperated Helen. She could not recall him ever looking her straight in the face. For that reason alone, if, for no other, she disliked and distrusted him, thinking not unnaturally that a man, who is afraid to let his eyes meet another's, must be plotting in his mind some treachery which he fears his direct gaze may betray. His furtive glances went quickly from master to mistress. Something in their attitude, the suddenness with which they interrupted their conversation told him that they had been talking about him.
"Did you hear me?" demanded Kenneth again. "Where have you been? You knew there was this packing to be done."
The man's eyes flashed resentfully, but he replied civilly: