“I am a married man,” he said, “living apart from my wife for many years. I am seeking to divorce her.”

Madame Lamotte put down her cup. Indeed! What tragic things there were! The entire absence of sentiment in her inspired a queer species of contempt in Soames.

“I am a rich man,” he added, fully conscious that the remark was not in good taste. “It is useless to say more at present, but I think you understand.”

Madame’s eyes, so open that the whites showed above them, looked at him very straight.

“ Ah! ça⁠—mais nous avons le temps! ” was all she said. “Another little cup?” Soames refused, and, taking his leave, walked westward.