He grunted disapproval. "You never see me in that condition. Pray continue your oration, Miss Campion! It was not my intention to interrupt."
But Violet had suddenly reopened her book and buried herself therein.
Max twisted his neck and peered over. After a brief space he grunted again and relaxed against the tree.
"Do you read French?" Olga asked, feeling the silence to be slightly oppressive.
He laughed drily. "Not that sort. I have no taste for it."
"But you know the language?" Olga persisted, still striving against silence.
"I've studied it," said Max. He paused a moment; then, "The best fellow
I ever knew was a Frenchman," he said.
She looked up at him, caught by something in his tone. "A friend of yours?"
He took off his hat with a reverence which she would have deemed utterly foreign to his nature. "Yes, a friend," he said. "Bertrand de Montville."
"Oh, did you know him?" exclaimed Olga. "Why did you never tell me before? I shall never forget how miserable I was because he didn't live to be reinstated in the French Army. But it's years ago now, isn't it?"