"I don't see it."
"Oh, you're good, Jim. But I want to be alone, just as you did when you were seasick. Go into the sitting-room. Please. I'll call you if I need you."
He went into their sitting-room, a room that shone with green and gilt, and looked out, across a narrow street, at the grey houses of uniform height and listened to the shrill street-sounds of Paris. He was lonely.
Somebody knocked at the door opening on the hall.
"Come in," he called. "I mean: entrez!"
A servant advanced, bearing a tray.
Jim saw that there was a card on the tray. He took it up and read the name of Paul Achille Boussingault. He did not remember ever having heard the name.
"Pour moi?" asked Jim.
"Yes, sir," said the servant, in a wholly unaccented English.
"Hum," said Jim. "Now I wonder what he wants. Very well, show him up."