“A leetle; speak un peu.”
“Only a little?”
Madame Duval looked puzzled, and replied in French, with a laugh, “Is it that you were told that I spoke English by your countryman, Milord Sare Boulby? Petit scelerat, I hope he is well. He sends you a commission for me,—so he ought; he behaved to me like a monster.”
“Alas! I know nothing of Milord Sir Boulby. Were you never in England yourself?”
“Never,” with a coquettish side-glance; “I should like so much to go. I have a foible for the English in spite of that vilain petit Boulby. Who is it gave you the commission for me? Ha! I guess, le Capitaine Nelton.”
“No. What year, Madame, if not impertinent, were you at Aix-la-Chapelle?”
“You mean Baden? I was there seven years ago, when I met le Capitaine Nelton, bel homme aux cheveux rouges.”
“But you have been at Aix?”
“Never.”
“I have, then, been mistaken, Madame, and have only to offer my most humble apologies.”