t imagine where you could have met
my mother."

"Why, at Bing's, the curio-dealer," said the other with an air of the
heaviest possible stupidity. And yet there was something in these few
words which seemed to imply that if Mr. Blunt was looking for trouble he
would certainly get it. "Bing was bowing her out of his shop, but he was
so angry about something that he was quite rude even to me afterwards. I
don't think it's very good for _Madame votre mere_ to quarrel with Bing.
He is a Parisian personality. He's quite a power in his sphere. All
these fellows' nerves are upset from worry as to what will happen to the
Allegre collection. And no wonder they are nervous. A big art event
hangs on your lips, my dear, great Rita. And by the way, you too ought
to remember that it isn't wise to quarrel with people. What have you
done to that poor Azzolati? Did you really tell him to get out and never
come near you again, or something awful like that? I don't doubt that he
was of use to you or to your king. A man who gets invitations to shoot
with the President at Rambouillet! I saw him only the other evening; I
heard he had been winning immensely at cards; but he looked perfectly
wretched, the poor fellow. He complained of your conduct--oh, very much!
He told me you had been perfectly brutal with him. He said to me: 'I am
no good for anything, _mon cher_. The other day at Rambouillet, whenever
I had a hare at the end of my gun I would think of her cruel words and my
eyes would run full of tears. I missed every shot' . . . You are not fit
for diplomatic work, you know, _ma chere_. You are a mere child at it.
When you want a middle-aged gentleman to do anything for you, you don't
begin by reducing him to tears. I should have thought any woman would
have known that much. A nun would have known that much. What do you
say? Shall I run back to Paris and make it up for you with Azzolati?"

He waited for her answer. The compression of his thin lips was full of
significance. I was surprised to see our hostess shake her head
negatively the least bit, for indeed by her pose, by the thoughtful
immobility of her face she seemed to be a thousand miles away from us
all, lost in an infinite reverie.

He gave it up. "Well, I must be off. The express for Nice passes at
four o'clock. I will be away about three weeks and then you shall see me
again. Unless I strike a run of bad luck and get cleaned out, in which
case you