“Excellent.” I glanced at Madame de Tinquerville and saw her rigidly examining her plate. “But it doesn’t fit all cases,—since we are now talking of ruptures.”
“Oh, a friend of mine had an even better expedient!”
“I should like to know it,” I remarked, pretending to laugh. “One never knows—”
“He simply took his card and marked on it ‘P.P.C.’ and left it at her home. That, and nothing more.”
“Thanks for the idea.”
I drew out my portfolio instantly and selected a card. The couple next to us, deceived by my gayety, began to laugh.
“A pencil?”
“Be careful!” said De Saint Omer, under his breath.
“Don’t worry.”