“Clothes are very dear, monsieur.”
“We English have plenty of money. At home—now—in England—what would you think I am?”
Madame scrutinized him with little black eyes half hidden between bladders of fat.
“Tiens!—how should I know?”
“I own three cotton mills and fifty houses. But in the war I was just this.”
She became very ready to oblige him, and Brent asked her advice.
“I am to be an apache, madame. A pair of velveteen breeches.—What next?”
“A cloth cap, monsieur.”
“Yes.”
“And a coat—a black coat, and a scarf to go round your neck.”