"Well?" she said finally.
"Galetteux," said Radwalader. "Go softly, my friend."
Mademoiselle Tremonceau bowed with ineffable dignity.
"You have my gracious permission to present him," she said.
Whistling softly, as was his habit when pleased, the air of "Au Clair de la Lune," Radwalader observed their meeting from the corners of his eyes, and was struck, as Mrs. Carnby had been, by Andrew's perfect repose. They spoke in English, of trivialities—Paris, the weather, the crowd, and the victory of Mathias—and, as the saddling-bell rang for the fifth race, all walked out together to the trackside. Here Radwalader left them, to place his bet, and Andrew found two little wooden chairs on which they seated themselves to await his return.
"You and Mr. Radwalader are old friends?" asked the girl.
"On the contrary," said Andrew, "we met for the first time only this morning."
"Oh! And what do you think of him?"
"I find him very agreeable," said Andrew; "a little cynical, perhaps, but clever—and cleverness, to twist an English saying, covers a multitude of sins."