“About your father.”
“About my father?”
“Yes: about the Baron d’Etigues and his guests. How on earth can men of their age waste their time killing off poor innocent birds on a rock?”
“It’s their amusement.”
“Are you sure of that? For my part I’m rather puzzled about the matter. In fact, if we were not in the year of grace 1892 I should be inclined to think rather.... You’re not going to feel hurt?”
“Go on, dear.”
“Well, they have the air of playing at conspirators! Yes; it really is so ... the Marquis de Rolleville, Matthew de la Vaupaliere, Count Oscar de Bennetot, Rufus d’Estiers, etc., all these noble lords of the Caux country try are up to their necks in a conspiracy!”
She looked at him with incredulous eyes.
“You’re talking nonsense, darling,” she murmured.
“But you listen so prettily,” he replied, assured of her complete ignorance of the plot. “You have such a delightful way of waiting for me to tell you serious things.”