“It would to mine,” said Romain. “But I prefer to keep them dry.”
“If that were possible!” sighed Liane.
Romain bowed. He was intensely amused at this interview; he had already the honour of a slight acquaintance with the famous actress, but he did not for one moment suppose that she had called to renew it.
“Talking of the country,” said Liane, drawing her long soft gloves through her fingers, “brings one back to your little nephew. You are so alike, Monsieur, one would suppose him to be a younger brother.”
Romain bowed again.
“I should have said myself,” he murmured, “my elder brother, but do not let me interrupt you!”
“Pauvre petit Jean!” said Liane in her best tragic manner. “There I blame myself! It is, in fact, to blame myself—to make, as it were, a little confession that I come here to-day.”
“Ah!” said Romain. “May I ask, Madame, if you come to confess his sins or your own?”
“Altogether my own,” said Liane, with a little sigh. “I have been unconscionably cruel to him!”
“Ah, then, it was Jean who tired first!” thought Romain to himself.