“Last night at the house of M. Duplessis.”
“Parbleu! I shall scold her well for confiding to her new friend Valerie the secret she kept from her old friends, my wife and myself.”
“By the way,” said Graham, with a tone of admirably-feigned indifference, “who is the happy man? That part of the secret I did not hear.”
“Can’t you guess?” “NO.”
“Gustave Rameau.”
“Ah!” Graham almost shrieked, so sharp and shrill was his cry. “Ah! I ought indeed to have guessed that!”
“Madame Savarin, I fancy, helped to make up the marriage. I hope it may turn out well; certainly it will be his salvation. May it be for her happiness!”
“No doubt of that! Two poets-born for each other, I dare say. Adieu, my dear Savarin! Here we are at the embassy.”