“Never speak to me of that wretched old man.”
For despite the ablest tactics, the most diplomatic angling, Count Cabinet had refused to rally.
“We followed the sails of your skiff to-day,” Mademoiselle de Nazianzi sighed, “until the hazes hid them!”
“I had a lilac passage.”
“You delivered the books?”
The Countess shrugged.
“I shall never forget this afternoon,” she said. “He was sitting in the window over a decanter of wine when I floated down upon him; but no sooner did he see me, than he gave a sound, like a bleat of a goat, and disappeared: I was determined however to call! There is no bell to the villa, but two bronze door-knockers, well out of reach, are attached to the front-door. These with the ferrule of my parasol I tossed and I rattled, until an adolescent, with Bougainvillea at his ear, came and looked out with an insolent grin, and I recognised Peter Passer from the Blue Jesus grown quite fat.”
“Eh mon Dieu!” Father Nostradamus half-audibly sighed.
“Eh mon Dieu ...” Mademoiselle de Nazianzi echoed, her gaze roving over the palace, whose long window-panes in the setting sun gleamed like sumptuous tissues.
“So that,” the Countess added, “I hardly propose to venture again.”