"Yes, indeed," said the lady, "and my dear husband not four years dead! Who is the squire that your old friend writes of, Harry?"
"He is lord of the manor at my old home, Madame. His son is in one of our foot regiments, and Mr. Berkeley came over to Holland with him: it was then he met Monsieur de Polignac."
"Qui se ressemble s'assemble. What is the name of the bad old man, Harry?"
"Berkeley."
"Berkeley!" Madame de Vaudrey puckered her brow and appeared to be reflecting.
"How ugly your English names are!" exclaimed Adèle, "and how difficult to say! I cannot even yet say Rochestair properly."
"You say it better than you say my name," said Fanshawe gloomily.
"But then I have known Monsieur Rochestair longer," returned Adèle. "Shall we go into the drawing-room, Mamma? I do so want to hear Monsieur Fanshawe sing that amusing song of his again."
Fanshawe glowered. He knew that Adèle was teasing him, and wished with all his heart that he could recall the luckless moment when he had first amused her with the song of "Widdicombe Fair". Harry's eyes twinkled.
"Yes," said Madame de Vaudrey, "you young people can precede us to the drawing-room. I have a little matter of business to talk over with our good friend Mynheer Grootz."