"Figure to yourself, Madame," he said, in the only tongue he ever cared to speak, "that it is possible for me to detest one of your charming sex. In that case I avenge myself by giving her to a German husband. Hein?"
"But the poor German?"
"Ah! One still remembers Alsace-Lorraine. Yes?"
"Surely there are limits even to a patriotic vengeance. But I must catch this train, and please do you try to catch me Mr. Welbourne."
"Perfectly."
Pleasant to wind slowly through the enchanted gardens to the sea in the last sunglow, pleasanter still to find on the way a quiet nook by a rippling stream, and sink upon a bench, half hidden in geranium-trees and quite hidden from the public, and look round at the gay and fragrant flower-bands, and—see the woman of mystery seated on another bench in earnest colloquy with Cyrano, the very same Cyrano whose acquaintance had been as good as repudiated by her at Les Oliviers a few days since.
Agatha's face was turned from Ermengarde; Cyrano's, full of emotion, was in the same direction, bent upon the lady's; one arm lay along the back of the bench behind her; his other almost encircled the figure turned from him; his hand was upon hers clasped on her lap; every line and gesture of the two figures indicated a situation of extreme poignancy; he was speaking in low tones of strong feeling, interrupted by sharp retorts of pain and indignation from her; there was clearly no place for a third person. But the superfluous third hardly knew how to remove herself without attracting attention; she had just risen for the purpose when Agatha, turning with quick anger to Cyrano, saw her. Ermengarde, wondering why everybody's invalid aunts should just then be staying clandestinely at Monte Carlo, bowed instinctively, and would have passed on, but that Agatha, with one of her sudden transitions to marble, came towards her with some calm and commonplace phrase, and obliged her to stop and reply.
"Yes. This is the last train in time for dinner," Agatha said, as if nothing mattered more than missing a meal; "and it's growing cold. May I introduce Mr. Paul, my—my—that is, a—a——"
"A connexion by marriage," Cyrano suggested, with what Ermengarde thought an odd expression.
"Quite so; a connexion by marriage," she echoed, as if greatly relieved by this definition. "Mrs. Allonby travelled from Calais with me, Ivor. She has been most kind. We are—luckily for me—in the same pension."