"What do you think, then?"
"I do not know what to think, mademoiselle. I am overwhelmed--abashed and humbled by contemplation of such generosity."
"You see, you do not know me, monsieur. But you shall know me better before we are finished."
"One does not question that." Nor did one! "But if I am to sail for America to-day--"
"To-morrow, from Cherbourg, at eight in the morning."
"Well, to-morrow, then: but how am I to get my passport vised?"
"I have seen to that. If you will look over your papers, monsieur, you will see that you are no longer Paul Martin alias André Duchemin, but Paul Delorme, my invalid brother, still suffering from honourable wounds sustained in the Great War and ordered abroad for his health."
To this Lanyard, hastily verifying her statement by running an eye through the passport, found nothing more appropriate than a wondering "Mon dieu!"
"So you see, everything is arranged. What have you to say?"
"Only that mademoiselle sweeps one off one's feet."