“Yes,” she said, “you will do some things, I others. There are the gaming clubs with their ridiculous names, L'Amour, La Mignonne, La Désirée” (she counted them reflectively on her fingers). “Both of our gentlemen might be tempted into one of these. You will drop into them, Mr. Ritchie. Then there is Madame Bouvet's.”
“Auguste would scarcely go there,” I objected.
“Ah,” said Madame la Vicomtesse, “but Madame Bouvet will know the names of some of Auguste's intimates. This Bouvet is evidently a good person, perhaps she will do more for you. I understand that she has a weak spot in her heart for Auguste.”
Madame la Vicomtesse turned her back again. Had she heard how Madame Bouvet had begged me to buy the miniature?
“Have you any other suggestions to make?” she said, putting a foot on the fender.
“They have all been yours, so far,” I answered.
“And yet you are a man of action, of expedients,” she murmured, without turning. “Where are your wits, Mr. Ritchie? Have you any plan?”
“I have been so used to rely on myself, Madame,” I replied.
“That you do not like to have your affairs meddled with by a woman,” she said, into the fireplace.
“I give you the credit to believe that you are too clever to misunderstand me, Madame,” I said. “You must know that your help is most welcome.”