He is getting intimate, thought Mr. Jones, elated, or he would not call me by my first name.
“No, your lordship, I have not had that great pleasure.”
“When you come,” said the count, affably, “you must come to my chateau in Normandy, and stay one month.”
This was beyond Alphonso’s most sanguine hopes. To be invited to visit a foreign nobleman at his chateau was an unlooked-for honor.
“You overwhelm me with your kindness, my lord count,” said Alphonso, in a flutter of delight. “I hope some day to accept your honorable invitation.”
“I think you will have zer good time. My sister, the Countess Marie de Montmorency, will be charmed to see you. She adores Americans.”
Alphonso was in the seventh heaven of delight. Instantly he pictured the high-born Countess Marie falling in love with him, marrying him, and thus giving him a place in the aristocratic circles of France. Perhaps, in that case, family influence would procure him a title also. It was the happiest moment of his life.
“Nothing would delight me more than to make the acquaintance of your august family, my lord count,” he said, his voice partly tremulous with joy. “When do you propose to return to la belle France?”
“What, you do speak my language, Monsieur Alphonse?”
“Only a little, your lordship,” said Mr. Jones, modestly.