"My dear sister," said the Comte stiffly, "I really must ask you to think sometimes before you speak. Of a truth you make suggestions and comments at times which literally stagger one."
"I don't see anything so very staggering in the idea of a penniless aristocrat marrying a wealthy English gentleman. . . ."
"A gentleman! my dear!" exclaimed the Comte.
"Well! Mr. Clyffurde is a gentleman, isn't he?"
"His family is irreproachable, I believe."
"Well then?"
"But . . . Mr. Clyffurde . . . you know, my dear. . . ."
"No! I don't know," said Madame decisively. "What is the matter with Mr. Clyffurde?"
"Well! I didn't like to tell you, Sophie, immediately on your arrival yesterday," said the Comte, who was making visible efforts to mitigate the horror of what he was about to say: "but . . . as a matter of fact . . . this Mr. Clyffurde whom you met in my house last night . . . who sat next to you at my table . . . with whom you had that long and animated conversation afterwards . . . is nothing better than a shopkeeper!"
No doubt M. le Comte de Cambray expected that at this awful announcement, Mme. la Duchesse's indignation and anger would know no bounds. He was quite ready even now with a string of apologies which he would formulate directly she allowed him to speak. He certainly felt very guilty towards her for the undesirable acquaintance which she had made in her brother's own house. Great was his surprise therefore when Madame's wrinkled face wreathed itself into a huge smile, which presently broadened into a merry laugh, as she threw back her head, and said still laughing: