Was she a lady or was she a beggar maid? He reasoned that ladies rarely burden their arms with a load of parcels, nor were they in the habit of making lingering stops in front of a Bureau d'Emploi. On the other hand, the object of his speculation was young, supple, well dressed; her gray eyes glancing his way thrilled him as no salesgirl beggar-maid had ever thrilled him before.
Decidedly, if she was a beggar maid, she was a most uncommon one. Cophetua saw that she was still looking at him, not artfully, and yet not disinterestedly either. The problem was disconcerting and insoluble; the call of the blood was peremptory and imperious.
He resolved to chance it.
Unbending as much as so magnificent a young man could unbend, he called out to Janet in a most inviting tone.
Alas, she couldn't understand a single word. All she could catch was the note of interrogation.
"Je ne comprends pas français—I'm sorry, but I don't understand," she informed him in polyglot. She wondered whether he could possibly be offering her employment, although she doubted this, for his glances were far from businesslike.
Again Cophetua spoke, more slowly. Yet on the same suave, interrogative note. He eyed her with immense favor. She understood his looks; and, as it was clearly not a case for the use of her pet comme ça, she lost all desire to understand his words.
Flushing and not quite knowing what to make of it all, she prepared to walk away, discretion seeming to be the better part of valor.
"Can I be of assistance?" said a gentleman who had suddenly stopped on his way past her.
She saw a short, robust, handsome man with an auburn beard and somewhat darker hair faintly tinged with gray. He took off his hat and bowed.