Flushing and not quite knowing what to make of it all, she prepared to walk away, discretion seeming to be the better part of valor. "Can I be of assistance?" said a gentleman who had suddenly stopped on his way past her. She saw a short, robust, handsome man with an auburn beard and somewhat darker hair faintly tinged with gray. He took off his hat and bowed. "I can speak a little English," he said, fluently enough, though to Janet’s ears the accent sounded rather German. Then he and Cophetua rapidly exchanged a few sentences in French. From the latter’s frigid manner, nothing was plainer than that he regarded the stranger’s mediation with extreme distaste. "He merely wishes to know whether you are seeking a position," said Janet’s self-appointed interpreter. "How could I be? I don’t know a word of the language, as you can see," she said, with one of her fascinating gestures. This reply was duly conveyed to the chief of the employment bureau who, with a thousand daggers in his parting smile, withdrew majestically into his shell. "It is impossible to know the reason for a mistake so deplorable," said he of the auburn beard, apologizing for Cophetua. He lifted his hat again, and made as if to go. But he did not go. "Oh, I don’t mind a bit," said Janet, laughing unaffectedly. "If only I knew French, I should like nothing better than to take some position or other." For a second, they looked into each other’s eyes with mutual approval. Then he said boldly: "In that case—would you like to be—what do the English call it—tutor to my little girl?" From Cophetua, looming in the background, came mesmeric waves of hostility. Sensing this, they walked away together. He gave her a card inscribed with the name of Anton St. Hilaire. He told her he was an Alsatian, a widower with one child of about fourteen years. His wife had died during his absence on service at the front. His daughter having sickened, he had been to Italy with her. Now he meant to make a long stay in Brussels in order to be near a famous specialist for children. Later he and Henriette would travel. Henriette had a nurse who for many reasons was unsatisfactory. His wish had long been to place the child in charge of a cultivated woman who should be a friend to her rather than a mere attendant, and who should inspire him with entire confidence. After a few not very searching questions, he professed to have entire confidence in Janet. He waved aside as immaterial the objection in respect of Janet’s ignorance of French. She would pick up French as quickly as Henriette picked up English. Henriette had already had some English instruction; and Janet, for her part, had no doubt of her ability to manage the child as far as the linguistic difficulty went. Had she not proved up to the hilt her genius for making foreigners understand her when such was her desire? "I could get along with a Choctaw," she said to herself, exultantly.