"Well," says I, "for that matter lots of things happened; but if you're speaking of the gentleman, your husband----" "My husband!"--you should have heard her laugh; it was just like one of the animals at the Zoo--"my husband! That wasn't my husband! That was the Baron Albert--the man I dread more than any one in the world. How could you make such a mistake, Britten?" I shook my head. "Madame," says I, "I'm very sorry, but I took the first one that came along and answered to the name. It must have been the head waiter's fault." She clenched her hands and began to step up and down the room, wild with perplexity. "It was all planned, Britten--all planned. They knew that I should send for Count Joseph, and this villain came from Vienna to thwart me. He must have bribed the servants at the hotel. And now, what do you say to it? I am to be banished from France--he swears it. They have written to Paris, and the decree may come at any moment. I am to be banished, Britten--driven out like a common criminal! Oh, what shall I do? My God, what shall I do?" That was a question I couldn't answer, but it did seem a wicked thing to treat a woman so, and I wasn't ashamed to admit it. "Is there any law in France that can turn you out, madame?" I asked. She answered that quickly enough. "Certainly there is, Britten. I know all about it. They can turn me out at twenty-four hours' notice." "Why not go to the American Consulate, madame?" "Oh, you don't understand. If my husband were but here! Oh, they would not insult me then--even if you were my husband, Britten." Upon my life and soul, I believe that she meant it. There was a look in her eyes as she stood before me which, unless I'm the biggest fool in Christendom, told me what was what plainly enough. A word, and I could have taken that fine lady in my arms. I would swear to it. And what forbade me, you ask? Well, perhaps I'd heard a smash of glass last night, and perhaps I hadn't; but I do believe it was that porter's foolish remark about "votes for women" which put me off more than anything else. So I drew back a step and answered her with more respect than ever. "I'll see that nobody insults you while I am your servant, madame. If I may make a suggestion, I would advise you to leave this town." She looked at me thoughtfully. "And where should I go, Britten?" "Back to Paris, madame--they won't interfere with you there." "But my husband--my dear husband?" I shrugged my shoulders. "Perhaps Mahomet will come to the--er--em--to you, madame." It was her turn to laugh; but I soon learned that my suggestion was no good to her, and for a very simple reason. "Ah," she said, "men are strange creatures, Britten. When we will, they will not; and when we will not, why, then they give us jewellery. I can't go back to Paris. If I do, a police officer goes with me." "Take him on the box and call him a footman--unless you prefer to make for London right away, madame."