"Oui, madame," came the maid's voice, a note echoing through it that I did not like.
"I shall not want you for fifteen minutes, Suzanne," I said. "Come back in a quarter of an hour." I felt a cold chill creeping over me, and Caroline's sweet voice trembled slightly. "And may the devil fly away with you, Suzanne!" I muttered, as I fell back against the pillows.
"We've had our sentence suspended for fifteen minutes, Caroline," I said, presently. "But how the deuce am I going to get through my toilet? My French is not like yours, my dear, and you never speak English to Suzanne. It's actually immoral, Caroline, the way I get my genders mixed up in French."
"Oh, don't say that, Reginald!" exclaimed my wife, in a horrified basso.
"Say what, Caroline?" I asked, petulantly.
"That about mixing genders being immoral, Reggie," she fairly moaned. "I'm not immoral, even if--if--if I have got your gender, Reginald. I didn't want it," she added, sternly, "and I can't be held responsible if I am masculine or neuter or intransitive. My advice to you, Reginald, is not to say much to Suzanne in any language."
I could not refrain from a silvery chuckle, the sound of which changed my mood instantly.
"How often I've said that to you, Caroline!" I remarked, most unkindly.
"I don't gossip with Suzanne any more than you do with your man," growled Caroline, in a tone that hurt me deeply.
My man! Great Lucifer, I had almost forgotten his existence. He would be in my dressing-room presently to trim my beard and make of himself a nuisance in various ways. Jenkins had his good points as a valet, but he was too talkative at times and always inquisitive. I could have murdered Suzanne and Jenkins at that moment with good appetite.