"But her children look French," I ventured.
"They are the two little girls of her concierge, monsieur." Emile's smile widened until it spread in merry wrinkles to the corners of his twinkling eyes.
"In all that lace and velvet?" I exclaimed.
"Precisely, monsieur."
"And why the deep mourning, Emile?"
"It is a pose, monsieur. One must invent novelties, eh? when one is as good-looking as that. Besides, madame's reputation has not been of the best for some time. Monsieur possibly remembers the little affair last year in the Rue des Mathurins? Very well, it was she who extracted the hundred thousand francs from the Marquis de Villiers. Madame now gives largely to charity and goes to mass."
"Blackmail, Emile?"
"Of the worst kind, and so monsieur sees how easily one can be mistaken, is it not so? Sacristi! one never knows."
"But are you certain you are not mistaken about your Austrian, Emile?" I ventured.