While we were thus engaged, a second visitor was announced, but I did not hear his name. His face was unknown to me—a narrow, foxy face it was—and the man's perfect self-assurance had something offensive in it, as all shams have. I did not care for his manner towards Isabella—which is, however, as I understand, quite à la mode d'aujourd'hui—a sort of careless, patronising admiration, with no touch of respect in it.
He made it quite apparent that he had come to see the young mistress of the house, and no one else, acknowledging the introductions to the remainder of the company with a scant courtesy. He talked to Isabella with a confidential inclination of his body towards her as they sat on low chairs with a small table between them, and it was easy to see that she appreciated the attention of this middle-aged man of the world.
"You see, Miss Gayerson," I heard him say with a bold glance, for he was one of those fine fellows who can look straight enough at a woman, but do not care to meet the eye of a man. "You see, I have taken you at your word. I wonder if you meant me to."
"I always mean what I say," answered Isabella; and I thought she glanced in my direction to see whether I was listening.
"A privilege of your sex—also to mean what you don't say."
At this moment Madame spoke to me, and I heard no more, but we may be sure that his further conversation was of a like intellectual and noteworthy standard. There was something in the man's lowered tone and insinuating manner that made me set him down as a lawyer.
"Do you notice," said Madame to me, "that Lucille is in better spirits?"
"Yes—I notice it with pleasure. Good spirits are for the young—and the old."
"I suppose you are right," said Madame. "Before the business of life begins, and after it is over."
Apropos of business, I gave the Vicomtesse at this time an account of my journey to Audierne, and was able to inform her that I had brought back money with me sufficient for her present wants.