“What is it? What is it?” called out M. de la Bourbonais, looking up from a letter that he was writing against time to catch the post. “What are you both quarrelling about again?” “Petit père, monsieur is so unkind and so disagreeable!” “And Mlle. Franceline is so cruel and so inquisitive!” “He won’t tell me who that strange gentleman is, petit père. Canst thou tell me?” “Oh! ho! I thought we didn’t care to know!” laughed Sir Simon with a mischievous look. “Tell me, petit père!” said Franceline, ignoring her tormentor’s taunt; and going up to her father, she laid her head coaxingly against his. He looked at her for a moment with a strange expression, and then said, half speaking to himself, while he stroked her hair, “What can it matter to thee? What is one strange face more or less to thee or me?” Then turning to Sir Simon, who was enjoying the sight of the young girl’s innocent curiosity, and perhaps revolving possible eventualities in his buoyant mind, the count said, “Who is it, Harness?” “How do I know?” retorted his friend. “A strange gentleman that bows like a Frenchman is not a very lucid indication.” “I met him coming out of your gate, walking with Mr. Charlton,” explained Franceline. “He’s taller than Mr. Charlton--as tall as you, monsieur--and he wore a moustache like a Frenchman. I never saw any one like him in England.” Franceline’s recollections of France were mostly rather dim, but, like the memories of childhood, those that survived were very vivid. “If he must be a Frenchman, I can make nothing out of it,” said Sir Simon. “Voyons, Harness,” laughed the count, “don’t be too unmerciful! Curiosity in a woman once led to terrible consequences.” “Well, I’ll tell you who he is In fact, I came here to-day on purpose to tell you, and to ask when I could bring him to see you. He’s the nephew of my old school-chum, De Winton, a very nice fellow, but not the least like a Frenchman, whatever his bow and his moustache may say to the contrary.” “Do you mean Clide De Winton, the poor young fellow who …?” “Precisely,” replied Sir Simon; “he’s been a rover on the face of the earth for the last eight or nine years. This is the first time I’ve seen him since I said good-by to him on the steamer at Marseilles, and met you on my way back. He’s been all over the world since then, I believe. You’ll find he has plenty to say for himself, and his French is number one.” “And the admiral--is he with him?” inquired Raymond. “I’m expecting him down to-morrow. How long is it since you saw him?” “Hé!… let us not count the years, mon cher! We were all young then.”