"Ah! madame," he said, handsomely, "you see me, I unfast with the fork. You see me here, I have envy of the simple life. I am content of to do it--_comme ca_--as that, see you," waving in the direction of his unfinished repast. "All that magnificence of your grand hotel, there is not the why of it, the most big of the world, and suchly stupefying, with its 'infernil rackit' as you say. And of more--what droll of idea, enough curious, by example! to dwell with the good Philippe and his _femme aimable_. Their hotel is of the most littles, but I rest here very volunteerly since longtime. Is it that one can to comprehend liking the vast hotel American?" "Monsieur le Baron lodges with us; we have so much of the chambers," ventured Celine. "Monsieur le Baron wishes to retire to his apartment," said Philippe, raising the ironing-board. "Will madame be so good to enter our _petit salon_ at the front, _n'est-ce-pas?_" The baron stepped forth from his corner and bowed himself graciously out. "Madame, my compliments--and to the adorable Mademoiselle Bines! _Au revoir_, madame--to the soontime--_avant peu_--before little!" On the farther side of his closed door the Baron Ronault de Palliac swore--once. But the oath was one of the most awful that a Frenchman may utter in his native tongue: "Sacred Name of a Name!" "But the baron wasn't done eating," protested Mrs. Bines. "Ah, yes, madame!" replied Philippe. "Monsieur le Baron has consumed enough for now. _Paul, mon enfant, ne touche pas la robe de madame!_ He is large, is he not, madame, as I have told you? A monster, yes?" Mrs. Bines, stooping, took the limp and wide-eyed Paul up in her arms. Whereupon he began to talk so fast to her in French that she set him quickly down again, with the slightly helpless air of one who has picked up an innocent-looking clock only to have the clanging alarm go suddenly off. "Madame will honour our little salon," urged Philippe, opening the door and bowing low. "_Quel dommage!_" sighed Celine, moving after them; "_la seule chemise blanche de Monsieur le Baron. Eh bien! il faut lui en acheter une autre!_" At dinner that evening Mrs. Bines related her adventure, to the unfeigned delight of her graceless son, and to the somewhat troubled amazement of her daughter. "And, do you know," she ventured, "maybe he isn't a regular baron, after all!" "Oh, I guess he's a regular one all right," said Percival; "only perhaps he hasn't worked at it much lately." "But his sitting there eating in that--that shirt--" said his sister. "My dear young woman, even the nobility are prey to climatic rigours; they are obliged, like the wretched low-born such as ourselves, to wear--pardon me--undergarments. Again, I understand from Mrs. Cadwallader here that the article in question was satisfactory and fit--red, I believe you say, Mrs. Terwilliger?" "Awful red!" replied his mother--"and they call their parlour a saloon."