"Oh," I said, blinking. "Then she is at home. Present my compliments and ask her to get up. Something very exasperating has hap—"
"Madame has request me to inform m'sieur that she knows the Count is here, and will you be so good as to call to-morrow morning."
"What! She knows he's here? Who brought the information?"
"The bountiful Max, m'sieur. He bring it with dejeuner, again with diner, and but now with the hot water, m'sieur."
"Oh, I see," said I profoundly. "In that case, I—I sha'n't disturb her. How—er—how did she take it?"
She gave me a severely reproachful look.
"She took it as usual, m'sieur. In that dreadful little tin tub old Conrad—"
"Good heavens, girl! I mean the news—the news about the Count."
"Mon dieu! I thought m'sieur refer to—But yes! She take it beautifully. I too mean the news. Madame is not afraid. Has she not the good, brave m'sieur to—what you call it—to shoulder all the worry, no? She is not alarm. She reads m'sieur's latest book in bed, smoke the cigarette, and she say what the divil do she care."
"What!"