Etta turned a page of the album and looked critically into a photograph.
“Must!” she said, with a little frown.
“Must!” repeated De Chauxville.
“A word I do not care about,” said Etta, with raised eyebrows.
The music was soft again.
“It is ten years since I held a rifle,” said De Chauxville. “Ah, madame, you do not know the excitement. I pity ladies, for they have no sport—no big game.”
“Personally, monsieur,” answered Etta, with a bright laugh, “I do not grudge you your big game. Suppose you miss the bear, or whatever it may be?”
“Then,” said De Chauxville, with a brave shrug of the shoulders, “it is the turn of the bear. The excitement is his—the laugh is with him.”
Catrina’s foot was upon the loud pedal again.
“Nevertheless, madame,” said De Chauxville, “I make so bold as to use the word. You perhaps know me well enough to be aware that I am rarely bold unless my ground is sure.”