"Stand where you are," I said, as madame approached the fire. "What a portrait!"
She stopped, the dancing light from the flames playing over her lithe, exquisite figure, moulded in a gown of scintillating scales of black jet. Then, seeing I had finished my mental note of line and composition, she half turned her pretty head and caught sight of the ruby, cobwebbed row of old Burgundy.
"Ah! Tanrade's Burgundy!" she exclaimed with a little cry of delight.
"How did you guess?"
"Guess! One does not have to guess when one sees as good Burgundy as that. You see I know it." She stretched forth her firm white arms to the blaze.
"Where is he, that good-for-nothing fellow?" she asked.
"In the garden after some astragon for the salad."
She tripped to the half-open door leading to the tangled maze of paths.
"Tanrade! Tanrade! Bonsoir, ami!" she called.