“You can see that I speak the truth, my lord,” was the response, as calm as ever, for nothing disturbed or ruffled this ideal servant.
He held out the thermometer for the marquis’ inspection and the latter examined it carefully. The cigar fell from his fingers to the floor. The attentive valet picked it up and threw it into the grate.
“I believe, François,” stammered the marquis, “that the fault lies with me. It is I––I, who am growing cold like death.”
“Yes, my lord,” answered the calm and imperturbable servant.
“‘Yes?’ you blockhead!” shrieked the master. “Do you know what you are saying?”
“Well, no, then, my lord,” responded the unmoved valet.
“Yes and no!” shouted the marquis in a voice that was wildly discordant. “What do you mean?”
“Whatever my lord pleases,” was the quiet response.
“Mon Dieu! I’ll discharge you.”