All the time that Madame Corvelis was talking, Odette was asking Sylvia in an unbroken whisper if she did not think that madame was charmante, aimable, gentille, and every other gracious thing she could be.
"Have you ever been to Constantinople? Have you ever seen the Bosphorus?" Madame Corvelis went on, turning to Sylvia. "What, you've never seen the most enchanting city in the world? Oh, but you must! Not now, of course. The war! It robs us all of something. Don't, please don't think that Odessa resembles Constantinople."
Sylvia promised she would not.
"Mais non, Odessa is nothing. Look at this house! Ah, when I think of what we've left behind in Constantinople. But M. Corvelis insisted, and he was right. At any rate, we've brought a few clothes with us, though of course when we came to this dreadful place we never thought that we shouldn't be back home in a month. It was merely a precaution. But he was right to be nervous, you see: the Turks have declared war. When I think of the poor ambassador. You never saw the ambassador?"
Sylvia shook her head.
"I remember he trod on my toe—by accident, of course—oh yes, it was entirely an accident. But he was so apologetic. What manners! But then I always say, if you want to see good manners you must frequent good society. What a pity you never saw the ambassador!"
"N'est-ce pas que c'est merveilleux?" Odette demanded.
"Merveilleux," Sylvia agreed, fervently.
"Encore, madame!" Odette begged. "Vos histoires sont tellement intéressantes."
"Ah, well, one can't live all one's life in Constantinople without picking up a few stories."