Fitzgerald lowered his voice. "What was your object in digging holes in yonder chimney? Did you know what was there? And what do you propose to do now?"
M. Ferraud coolly, took off his spectacles and polished the lenses. It needed but a moment to adjust them. "What are you talking about?"
"You are really M. Ferraud?" said the young man coldly.
The Frenchman produced a wallet and took out a letter. It was written by the president of France, introducing M. Ferraud to the ambassador at Washington. Next, there was a passport, and far more important than either of these was the Legion of Honor. "Yes, I am Anatole Ferraud."
"That is all I desire to know."
"Shall we return to the ladies?" asked M. Ferraud, restoring his treasures.
"Since there is nothing more to be said at present. It seems strange to me that foreign politics should find its way here."
"Politics? I am only a butterfly hunter."
"There are varieties. But you are the man. I shall find out!"
"Possibly," returned M. Ferraud thinking hard.