"Then I must have mistaken my identity, monsieur. Perhaps you will tell me who I am?"
"Your wife called you 'Henri,'" said Patsy.
"Ah, yes; a pet name. I believe the blacksmith is named Henri, and poor Clarette is so accustomed to it that she calls me Henri when she wishes to be affectionate."
Patsy realized the folly of arguing with him.
"Maurie," said she, "or whatever your name may be, you have been faithful in your duty to us and we have no cause for complaint. But I believe you do not speak the truth, and that you are shifty and artful. I fear you will come to a bad end."
"Sometimes, mamselle," he replied, "I fear so myself. But, peste! why should we care? If it is the end, what matter whether it is good or bad?"
Watching their faces closely, he saw frank disapproval of his sentiments written thereon. It disturbed him somewhat that they did not choose to continue the conversation, so he said meekly:
"With your kind permission, I will now go below for a cup of coffee," and left them with a bow and a flourish of his cap. When he had gone Patsy said to Ajo: