“Who, my dear, is that man,” asked Madame de Brie. She had almost said “that dreadful man” but she had checked herself.
“Man—Oh, that is Raft. He saved my life.”
“How delightful,” said the Countess, “and he seems quite a character.”
“Quite,” said Madame de Brie half-heartedly, “but my dear Cléo, you will excuse an old woman for suggesting it, your generosity must be on its guard, he placed his hand on your shoulder, quite familiarly it seemed to me.”
“Well,” said the choking Cléo, “why should he not? I have slept with my head on his chest on a rock and I have stabbed a man who was trying to kill him. Between us we fought a whole crowd of Chinamen. He had a harpoon and I had a knife and we beat them and took their ship. Do you mind having the window a wee bit open? I feel rather faint.”
“That’s better,” said she to the speechless other ones, “I’m so used to fresh air that I can’t bear to be closed in.”
“But my dear Cléo,” suddenly broke out the old lady, “what do you intend to do with him?”
“Do with him? Nothing. He’s my friend, that’s all. Ah, here we are.”
The car had drawn up in the courtyard of the Hotel.