As he sat in the car and was whirled along the sea-front towards Monplaisir, he passed a clean-shaven, well-dressed man in a dark suit with carefully-ironed trousers, his handkerchief showing from his jacket pocket, patent leather boots, grey spats, and a light grey Tyrolese hat. The stranger gave him a curious, inquisitive glance as he passed, then, looking after him, muttered some words beneath his breath.
The idler stood and watched the car disappear in the dust along the wide, straight road, and then he walked to the steps over which Jean had passed and followed in her footsteps.
As a matter of fact, this was not the first occasion upon which the stranger had watched her ladyship.
On the previous day he had been passing along a street in Havre when a big red car had passed, and in it was her ladyship with little Lady Enid.
In a second, on looking up suddenly, he had recognised her.
But she had not seen him. At the moment she had been bending towards the child, buttoning up her coat.
The stranger, who had only the day previous arrived in Havre, and was awaiting a steamer to America, turned upon his heel and, chancing to meet a postman face to face, pointed out the car and asked in French whose it was.
The veteran, for he wore his medal, glanced at the car and replied:
“Ah! That is the automobile of the English lord. That is the Countess of Bracondale, his wife.”