While the car waited for them, all four descended to the beach, where little Enid with her governess went forward, while Bracondale and his wife walked along to a secluded corner in the rocks, where it was Jean's habit to read while awaiting her little girl. Then, after he had seen her comfortably settled in the shadow, for the sun was hot, he lit a cigarette and strolled back to where the car awaited him, absorbed in the international problem which had, according to Charlton, so suddenly arisen. As he sat in the car and was whirled along the sea-front towards Monplaisir, he passed a clean-shaven, well-dressed man in a dark suit with carefully-ironed trousers, his handkerchief showing from his jacket pocket, patent leather boots, grey spats, and a light grey Tyrolese hat. The stranger gave him a curious, inquisitive glance as he passed, then, looking after him, muttered some words beneath his breath. The idler stood and watched the car disappear in the dust along the wide, straight road, and then he walked to the steps over which Jean had passed and followed in her footsteps. As a matter of fact, this was not the first occasion upon which the stranger had watched her ladyship. On the previous day he had been passing along a street in Havre when a big red car had passed, and in it was her ladyship with little Lady Enid. In a second, on looking up suddenly, he had recognised her. But she had not seen him. At the moment she had been bending towards the child, buttoning up her coat. The stranger, who had only the day previous arrived in Havre, and was awaiting a steamer to America, turned upon his heel and, chancing to meet a postman face to face, pointed out the car and asked in French whose it was. The veteran, for he wore his medal, glanced at the car and replied: "Ah! That is the automobile of the English lord. That is the Countess of Bracondale, his wife." "Do they live here?" "At the Villa Monplaisir, m'sieur, out on the road to Fecamp." "Are they rich?" he asked unconcernedly. "Oh, yes; Lord Bracondale is the English Minister for Foreign Affairs." "Bracondale!" echoed the stranger, recognising the name for the first time. "And that is his wife?" "Yes." "And the child?" "His daughter." "Is Lady Bracondale often here, in Havre?" he inquired eagerly. "Not often. Perhaps once a week in the season. She comes shopping," replied the grizzled old man, hitching up his box containing his letters. "Look here, my friend," exclaimed the stranger. "Tell me something more about that lady." And he slipped a two-franc piece into the man's hand. "Ah! I fear I know but little--only what people say, m'sieur." "What do they say?" "That Madame the Countess, who is French, is a most devoted wife, although she is such a great lady--one of the greatest ladies in England, I believe. I have heard that they have half-a-dozen houses, and are enormously wealthy."