“A monstrous fine place, you know, Marquis,” he observed for the second time, refilling his glass.
“Is it?” said M. de Kersaint with indifference.
“Well, you must realise that it is!” retorted the Comte. “You speak as if you had never seen it.”
“I have seen it very seldom.”
“If that is so, then, parbleu, you have an astounding memory for topographical details! The accuracy of the plan of the interior you made for me was astounding, considering that you had only been there once.”
“I never said, surely, that I had only been there once.”
“Your pardon, then. You gave me to understand as much, I thought, when you drew me the plan.”
“Did I? I have no recollection of having said so, for as a matter of fact I must have been there quite three times in my life.”
The Comte smiled curiously. “Your plan becomes less miraculous then. But even so, the owner or someone must have conducted you into every hole and corner on the ground floor.”
To this deduction M. de Kersaint made no response. The Comte drank off a glass of wine, and then, just perceptibly taking a breath as one addressing himself to a plunge, said, “Did you ever see the Duchesse during any of your—three visits?”