'We cannot regret that,' said Mr. Battishill with awkward gallantry, 'since to that we are indebted for the pleasure of making your acquaintance.'
Mirelle considered for a moment, then she said simply, 'You mean that I should not have existed. True; I did not think of this.'
Mr. Battishill and the young man were unable to repress a smile. She was a curious mixture of simplicity, reserve, and frankness. The reserve was exercised over her feelings, but she was perfectly frank about her thoughts.
'Have you ever been to Cantal——? I have not quite caught the name.'
'I have never been in Spain at all,' answered Mirelle.
'Where, then, have you lived?'
'In Paris. Where else should I live? One lives in Paris, one exists elsewhere.'
'But your father?'
'Mr. Strange was a Brazilian diamond merchant. I mean a merchant of diamonds living in Brazil. My mother married him there. It was very good of my mother, but she was an angel. He was rich—comme ça, mais bourgeois. When I was born, my mother came to Paris to have me properly educated, and I lived there till the good God took her. I have been at school with the English sisters of the Sacré Coeur. When my father came to Paris he took me away, to bring me to his home in England.'
'Where is his home?'