“You are too kind,” said I, with a low bow.
There was a pause of some moments—I took advantage of it.
“I think, Madame, I have the honour of speaking to—to—to—”
“The mistress of the hotel,” said the lady, quietly. “I merely called to ask you how you did, and hope you were well accommodated.”
“Rather late, considering I have been six weeks in the house,” thought I, revolving in my mind various reports I had heard of my present visitor’s disposition to gallantry. However, seeing it was all over with me, I resigned myself, with the patience of a martyr, to the fate that I foresaw. I rose, approached her chair, took her hand (very hard and thin it was too), and thanked her with a most affectionate squeeze.
“I have seen much English!” said the lady, for the first time speaking in our language.
“Ah!” said I, giving another squeeze.
“You are handsome, garcon,” renewed the lady.
“I am so,” I replied.
At that moment Bedos entered, and whispered that Madame D’Anville was in the anti-room.