"Maraquito, Maraquito," murmured Peggy, and shook her head. "No, I do not remember her. How old is she?" "About thirty, I think; a fine, handsome woman like a tropical flower for coloring." "Spanish. The name is Spanish." "I think that is all the Spanish about her. She talks English without the least accent. Hush! here is papa." It was indeed the little Professor, who rushed into the room and threw himself, blowing and panting, on the dingy sofa. He was small and dry, with black eyes and a wrinkled face. He wore a blonde wig which did not match his yellow complexion, and was neatly dressed in black, with an old-fashioned swallow-tail coat of blue. He carried a small fiddle and spoke volubly without regarding the presence of Miles. "Oh, these cochons of English, my dear," he exclaimed to Peggy, "so steef--so wood-steef in the limbs. Wis 'em I kin do noozzn', no, not a leetle bit. Zey would make ze angils swear. Ah, mon Dieu, quel dommage I haf to teach zem." "I must see about these accounts," said Peggy, picking up a sheaf of papers and running out. "Stay to dejeuner, Miles." "Eh, mon ami," cried papa, rising. "My excuses, but ze pigs make me to be mooch enrage. Zey are ze steef dolls on the Strasburg clock. You are veil--ah, yis--quite veil cheerup." The Professor had picked up a number of English slang words with which he interlarded his conversation. He meant to be kind, and indeed liked Miles greatly. In proof of his recovered temper, he offered the young man a pinch of snuff. Jennings hated snuff, but to keep Papa Le Beau in a good temper he accepted the offer and sneezed violently. "Professor," he said, when somewhat better, "I have come to ask you about a lady. A friend of mine has fallen in love with her, and he thought you might know of her." "Eh, wha-a-at, mon cher? I understands nozzin'. Ze lady, quel nom?" "Maraquito Gredos." "Espagnole," murmured Le Beau, shaking his wig. "Non. I do not know ze name. Dancers of Spain. Ah, yis--I haf had miny--zey are not steef like ze cochon Englees. Describe ze looks, mon ami." Jennings did so, to the best of his ability, but the old man still appeared undecided. "But she has been ill for three years," added Jennings. "She fell and hurt her back, and--" "Eh--wha-a-at Celestine!" cried Le Beau excitedly. "She did fall and hurt hersilf--eh, yis--mos' dredfil. Conceive to yoursilf, my frien', she slip on orange peels in ze streets and whacks comes she down. Tree year back--yis--tree year. Celestine Durand, mon fil." Jennings wondered. "But she says she is Spanish." Le Beau flipped a pinch of snuff in the air. "Ah, bah! She no Spain." "So she is French," murmured Jennings to himself. "Ah, non; by no means," cried the Frenchman unexpectedly. "She no French. She Englees--yis--I remembers. A ver' fine and big demoiselle. She wish to come out at de opera. But she too large--mooch too large. Englees--yis--La Juive."