“I suppose not,” he went on, without waiting for an answer, which she remembered as an old trick of his. “You are a woman—it is different for you.”
The girl said nothing. She may have thought differently; one cannot always read a maiden's thoughts.
They walked on together. Suddenly the Vicomte d'Audierne spoke.
“Who is this?” he said.
Hilda followed the direction of his eyes.
“That,” she answered, “is Signor Bruno. An old Italian exile. A friend of ours.”
Bruno came forward, hat in hand, bowing and smiling in his charming way.
Hilda introduced the two men, speaking in French.
“I did not know,” said Signor Bruno, with outspread hands, “that you spoke French like a Frenchwoman.”
Hilda laughed.