"Ah well, Master Harry," said Sherebiah, "’tis like that sometimes, so ’tis. You be a scholard, with book larnen and all that; I be, true, a poor common mortal, but mebbe my ear be quicker ’n some." "Still, the time is rather short for you to have learnt to speak the language so well as you do. Your knowledge has grown as quickly as your beard." "True now, mebbe so; Samson in the Holy Book growed amazen clever wi’ his locks; but I never thowt afore as how it med be the same in these days." Harry laughed. "It looks very English, doesn’t it?" he said, pointing to the house. It was square, with a veranda painted blue, under which were several windows opening to the ground. In front was an open semicircular space, around which were parterres of brilliant flowers; these were separated from the park and orchard by a prolongation of the balustrades that lined the drive. There were dormer windows in the roof, and at one angle rose a kind of belfry surmounted by a weathercock. "Give me the packet, Sherry; you had better remain at the door while I go in." "Ay, or mebbe I med find my lone way to the kitchen?" "No, no; remain at the door until I have seen Madame de Vaudrey. I can’t have you coquetting with her maids." Harry went to the door, which stood open, the afternoon having been warm. A spare, anxious-looking man-servant came in answer to his ring. "Is Madame de Vaudrey within?" he asked in Dutch. The man’s accent when he replied in the affirmative left no doubt that he was a Frenchman. Harry explained his errand in French, whereupon the man said in the same language that his mistress was for the moment engaged, but that if Monsieur would wait no doubt she would see him shortly. He led Harry through the wide hall, up a handsome oak staircase into a little ante-room, where, begging him to be seated, he shut the door upon the visitor.