Boussingault thumped the desk with his forefinger.
"Poof, poof! I do not ask of your heart, your liver, your biceps flexor. How many years are you alive?"
"Doctor," said Stainton, "I don't think you quite understand——"
"I understand well what I want to know. Are you married a long time?"
"On the contrary."
"And your age?"
Stainton realised that it must be foolishly feminine longer to fence.
"Fifty," he belligerently declared.
Dr. Boussingault leaned back, spread wide his arms, and smiled.
"Vous voilà!"