As the girl uttered these words a man joined them, a tall, rather cadaverous-looking stranger in black, evidently a Frenchman.
"This is Monsieur Galtier—Henri Galtier," she explained, introducing them.
"Ah! I recollect. Madame told me that you are to be married—eh, Céline? I congratulate you," said Boyne in an affable manner. "Pardon my foolishness, but at first I did not recognise you as my friend."
The latter word was intentionally diplomatic.
"Yes, I thought you would recollect!" said the girl. "Is Madame upstairs? I want so much to see her."
"No," replied Boyne. "She isn't. I've just called, but she's out."
"There are lights in her windows," remarked the man Galtier in very good English.
"Servants, I suppose," said Boyne carelessly. "I myself went to see her upon some business—about some shares upon which she has asked my advice. She's gone away for the week-end, it seems."
"H'm!" grunted the Anglo-Frenchman. "How are we to know that?"
"Well, I tell you so," was Boyne's blunt response.