"Your daughter, madame! But certainly you are not Dame Melicent."
At this the old, old woman raised her nodding head.
"Dame Melicent? And was it I you were seeking, sir?"
Now Florian looked from one to the other of these incomprehensible strangers, bewildered; and his eyes came back to his lovely wife, and his lips smiled irresolutely.
"Is this some jest to punish me, my dear?" But then a new and graver trouble kindled in his face, and his eyes narrowed, for there was something odd about his wife also.
"I have been drinking in queer company," he said. "It must be that my head is not yet clear. Now certainly it seems to me that you are Adelaide de la Forêt, and certainly it seems to me that you are not Adelaide."
The girl replied:
"Why, no, messire; I am Sylvie de Nointel."
"Come, come," said the middle-aged lady, briskly, "let us have an end of this play-acting! There has been no Adelaide de la Forêt in these parts for some twenty-five years, as nobody knows better than I. Young fellow, let us have a sniff at you. No, you are not tipsy, after all. Well, I am glad of that. So let us get to the bottom of this business. What do they call you when you are at home?"
"Florian de Puysange," he answered speaking meekly enough. This capable large person was to the young man rather intimidating.