The gentleman pauses and smiles with his head inclined, evidently expecting to be addressed in French.
“I believe I have made a mistake, Sir,” hesitates Mr. Arden.
The gentleman inclines his head lower, smiles, and waits patiently for a second or two. Mr. Arden, a little embarrassed, says,—
“I thought, Monsieur, I had met you before in England.”
“I have never been in England, Monsieur,” says the patient and polite Frenchman, in his own language. “I cannot have had the honour, therefore, of meeting Monsieur there.”
He pauses politely.
“Then I have only to make an apology. I beg your—I beg—but surely—I think—by Jove!” he breaks into English, “I can't be mistaken—you are Mr. Longcluse.”
The tall gentleman looks so unaffectedly puzzled, and so politely good-natured, as he resumes, in the tones which seem perfectly natural, and yet one note in which David Arden fails to recognise, and says,—
“Monsieur must not trouble himself of having made a mistake: my name is St. Ange.”
“I believe I have made a mistake, Monsieur—pray excuse me.”