She nodded gravely yet with little pretence at sympathy.
"You English were wonderful," she said coldly.
The little fat man, who had been leaning over the edge of the box, suddenly turned around, mopping his forehead. He was not a pleasant sight to look upon. There were wine stains upon his shirt front and cigar ash upon his waistcoat. His cheeks were pale and puffy; there were bags underneath his eyes. His grey beard and moustache, though carefully trimmed, were scanty and unprepossessing.
"But she is wonderful, that little one," he declared. "Marvellous!"
He poured out a glass of wine, ignoring us in his ecstasy. The Baroness endeavoured to correct his manners.
"You were unfortunate, dear Henri," she said, "that you arrived too late to hear Mademoiselle Mindel sing and to watch her dance. You would have thought less of your little French girl's performance."
Monsieur Henri recovered himself sufficiently to bow to Rose.
"It will be my pleasure another evening," he said. "Meanwhile, dear Baroness, if you will excuse me. Mademoiselle expects me. We shall meet again."
He made us a comprehensive bow and departed. The phlegmatic young woman, who had been introduced to us as Mademoiselle Trudens, muttered something in Flemish as he left the box. The Baroness shook her head reprovingly.
"Monsieur Henri Destin," she pronounced, "is a person of importance. One must humour his whims."