“Well, it’s easy to see that your mother was an Englishwoman,” she said. “Why, if I’d given your Uncle Romain that opening, he’d have sent me blushing into next week.”
“I’m afraid I am very stupid, mademoiselle,” said poor Jean. “I’ve only just come to Paris.” It was evident that whatever blushing there was going to be, would be entirely on Jean’s part.
Pauline laughed again.
“I suppose you are going to live right away with the D’Ucelles, aren’t you?” she asked curiously.
“No, I don’t think so, mademoiselle,” said Jean.
“My! but that’s odd,” cried Pauline, regarding him closely. “Why ever not?—where are you going to live, then?”
“I shall find rooms to-morrow, I imagine.”
“You people over here are funny,” said Pauline. “I suppose as your uncle and aunt haven’t any children, you are their heir, aren’t you?”
Jean shrugged his shoulders; he was getting angry, and it improved his manner.
“I am really afraid you must ask them, mademoiselle,” he said gently. “I know so very little myself about their affairs.”