In some way which I did not pause to analyze, I felt perfectly sure that this strange woman could, if she cared to do so, tell me some of the things I ought to know. She might be here on some errand identical with my own. Calhoun had sent for her once before. Whose agent was she now? I found chairs for us both.
An instant later, summoned in what way I do not know, the old serving-woman again reappeared. "Wine, Threlka," said the baroness; "service for two—you may use this little table. Monsieur," she added, turning to me, "I am most happy to make even some slight return for the very gracious entertainment offered me that morning by Mr. Calhoun at his residence. Such a droll man! Oh, la! la!"
"Are you his friend, Madam?" I asked bluntly.
"Why should I not be?"
I could frame neither offensive nor defensive art with her. She mocked me.
In a few moments the weazened old woman was back with cold fowl, wine, napery, silver.
"Will Monsieur carve?" At her nod the old woman filled my glass, after my hostess had tasted of her own. We had seated ourselves at the table as she spoke.
"Not so bad for a black midnight, eh?" she went on, "—in a strange town—and on a strange errand? And again let me express my approbation of your conduct."
"If it pleases you, 'tis more than I can say of it for myself," I began. "But why?"
"Because you ask no questions. You take things as they come. I did not expect you would come to Montreal."