"It is not that we have ever met before--no, it is not that. It is my name to which you are not a stranger."
Mr. Lovell glanced again at the card. "Your name? I am afraid, Vicomte, that I do not remember having ever heard your name before."
"Ah! Is that so?" The stranger regarded his polished boots. He spoke as if he were addressing himself to them. "Is it possible that she can have given another name? No, it is not possible. She is capable of many things. I do not believe she is capable of that." He looked up again at Mr. Lovell. "My business with you, Mr. Lovell, is of rather a peculiar kind. You will think, perhaps, that mine is rather a singular errand. I have come to ask you to acquaint me with the residence of my wife."
"With the--did you say, with the--residence of your wife?"
"That is what I said. I have come to ask you to acquaint me with the residence of my wife." The artist stared.
"But, so far as I am aware, I do not know your wife."
"That is absurd. I do not say, Mr. Lovell, that you are conscious of the absurdity. But still--it is absurd--I was not aware that you were acquainted with my wife until I learned the fact, this morning, at your Academy."
"At our Academy?"
"Precisely. Upon the walls of your Academy of Painting, Mr. Lovell."
Mr. Lovell began to wonder if his visitor was not an amiable French lunatic.