“Uncle, weren’t you to play a game of backgammon this morning with that Englishman who challenged you yesterday?”
“It isn’t this morning, my dear girl, but to-night that we are to play.”
“I thought that it was this morning.”
“You are mistaken.—Backgammon is a very fine game; do you play it, Monsieur Dalbreuse?”
“A little, monsieur.”
“It was Dazincourt who taught me; he was a very fine player. I remember that one evening we played for one of his wigs; it was the wig that he wore in—wait a minute—a beautiful wig, and that counts for a great deal on the stage. It was the wig he wore in——”
Caroline rose and exclaimed impatiently:
“That will do for to-day; I do not want to tire monsieur; let’s go to drive; it is a fine day and I long for the fresh air. Uncle, will you be good enough to fetch my bonnet?”
Monsieur Roquencourt went to fetch the bonnet, scratching his ear and muttering:
“Strange! I can’t remember the name of the part.”