“_C’est bien, cela, madame_; and I may be altogether a fool, and a fanciful one. But, here (recognising now the significance of reports that have reached me) is where I trace a connection between the fact of my Lord Murk and the Chevalier d’Eon becoming suddenly acquainted, and the fact that the notable Englishman and my lord are villa-neighbours at Putney, where each has his holiday establishment, and where--altogether apart from politics--both meet on the social grounds of a common appetite----” “For gossip?” “For port wine, madame.” La chevalière broke out into a sudden violent laugh. For the first time her voice seemed to contradict her sex. “_Oh, mon Dieu_! _c’est une fine mouche_!” she cried. “She think to make catspaw of our tipsy monseigneur! I undurestand. _Mon Dieu_, it is excellent! This contained, this inscrutable, this Machiavel, that but wash his head in the bottle as it were to cool it, to yield his confidence to a _paillard_, a toss-the-pot, an old, old _p’tit-maître_ that have nevaire earn in his life one title to respect! Say no more. It is a penetration the most admirable that you reveal. _Oh, mon Dieu_! _avec tant de finesse on nous crédit_!” Ned waited till her merriment had jangled itself into silence. “Not to constitute my lord a spy,” said he quietly, “but to equip him with one.” “_Comment_?” said madame. “I do not undurestand.” “I don’t say you do. It is a hypothetical case I put. I assume, for instance, that the chevalier is perfectly aware of my lord’s propensities, and is even willing to act the part of his _conciliatrice_.” Madame jumped to her feet, breathing heavily. “Why did I not keel you!” she muttered. Her eyes were awake with fury. Little coal-black imps seemed to battle in them as in pools of gall. Ned sat up on his bed. “I assume,” he went on coolly, “that the chevalier, looking about her for her instrument, marked down this dissolute nobleman with a villa at Putney, and decided to accommodate him with a French mistress--a Cressida whom she should coach to act the part of spy to a spy.” “_C’est bien ça_,” whispered madame again.