She tried to suppress a smile, but only half succeeded.
"I fear the Captain has been drinking again," she said quietly. "Not that
I am sorry. The wine improves you, I think."
"Mademoiselle lures me to a drunkard's grave," exclaimed my father, bowing low, "but pray be seated. A chair for the lady, my son. Early this afternoon they told me not to expect you. I trust you have had everything possible done for your comfort?"
For a moment she favored me with an incurious glance.
"I was unable to see you on the ship, captain, and I wanted to have a word with you at the first opportunity. Otherwise I would not have favored you with a tableau of the house of Blanzy. I wanted to speak with you—alone."
She had declined the chair I offered her, and was standing facing him, her eyes almost on a level with his.
"This," said my father, bowing again, "is delightfully unexpected! But I forget myself. This is my son, Henry Shelton. May I present him to Mlle. de Blanzy?"
"I suppose you may as well," she replied, holding a hand toward me indifferently. "Let us trust he has your good qualities monsieur, and none of your bad ones. But I wanted to speak to you alone."
"My son is discretion itself," said my father, with another bow. "Pray let him stay. I feel sure our discussion will not only interest but instruct him."
Mademoiselle frowned and tapped an angry foot on the floor.