"Madame could not help smiling--a melancholy smile, monsieur, that went to one's heart." And François laid his hand with a hypocritical look on his dazzlingly white closely-plaited shirt-front with its large gold studs.
"You may dispense with those grimaces in my presence! Go on."
"Madame, who had passed her left arm through mademoiselle's, and did not let it go now, held out her right hand and said: 'Ah, que nous----'"
"In French?"
"No, monsieur, in German."
"Then repeat it in German; the same words, if you please."
"Do we meet again thus after eighty-seven years?"
"Twenty-seven, idiot! But the actual meeting?"
"It was such a confusion, monsieur! I could not distinguish anything in particular; it was impossible, monsieur!" Giraldi shrugged his shoulders impatiently.
"If Count Golm calls, tell him that I am at home to him, and add that monsieur can only spare him a few minutes because he is himself expected in madame's salon. Then mention, casually, who is in the salon. Do you understand?"