As Thérèse finished her explanation of the intrusion, M. Verduron, who prided himself upon his good manners, and who had won fame in his earlier days as a skilful dancer of the minuet, paused about five yards from Dame Roberts and made her a very low bow, with his elbows gracefully rounded, his heels touching each other, and his feet forming the letter V.
Dame Roberts, flattered by the homage rendered to her sex, responded with a ceremonious curtsey, saying sotto voce to Segoffin the while, with a sarcastically reproachful air:
"Notice how a polite gentleman ought to accost a lady."
M. Floridor Verduron, advancing a couple of steps, made another profound bow, to which Suzanne responded with equal deference, murmuring to Segoffin as if to pique him or arouse his emulation:
"These are certainly the manners of a grandee,—of an ambassador, in fact."
The head gunner, instead of replying, however, tried to get as much out of sight as possible behind an ever-green. M. Verduron's third and last salute (he considered three bows obligatory) was too much like the others to deserve any especial mention, and he was about to address Suzanne when he caught sight of the head gunner.
"What! you here?" he exclaimed, with a friendly nod. "I didn't see you, you old sea-wolf. And how is your eye getting along?"
"I have no use of it, as you see, M. Verduron, but don't let's talk about that, I beg of you. I have my reasons."
"I should think so, my poor fellow, for it would be rather making light of misfortune, wouldn't it, madame?" asked the visitor, turning to Suzanne, who bowed her assent with great dignity, and then said:
"The servant tells me you wish to see M. Cloarek on pressing business, monsieur."