"I must see about these accounts," said Peggy, picking up a sheaf of papers and running out. "Stay to dejeuner, Miles."
"Eh, mon ami," cried papa, rising. "My excuses, but ze pigs make me to be mooch enrage. Zey are ze steef dolls on the Strasburg clock. You are veil—ah, yis—quite veil cheerup."
The Professor had picked up a number of English slang words with which he interlarded his conversation. He meant to be kind, and indeed liked Miles greatly. In proof of his recovered temper, he offered the young man a pinch of snuff. Jennings hated snuff, but to keep Papa Le Beau in a good temper he accepted the offer and sneezed violently.
"Professor," he said, when somewhat better, "I have come to ask you about a lady. A friend of mine has fallen in love with her, and he thought you might know of her."
"Eh, wha-a-at, mon cher? I understands nozzin'. Ze lady, quel nom?"
"Maraquito Gredos."
"Espagnole," murmured Le Beau, shaking his wig. "Non. I do not know ze name. Dancers of Spain. Ah, yis—I haf had miny—zey are not steef like ze cochon Englees. Describe ze looks, mon ami."
Jennings did so, to the best of his ability, but the old man still appeared undecided. "But she has been ill for three years," added Jennings. "She fell and hurt her back, and—"
"Eh—wha-a-at Celestine!" cried Le Beau excitedly. "She did fall and hurt hersilf—eh, yis—mos' dredfil. Conceive to yoursilf, my frien', she slip on orange peels in ze streets and whacks comes she down. Tree year back—yis—tree year. Celestine Durand, mon fil."
Jennings wondered. "But she says she is Spanish."