“Yes, yes, madame, that is it without a doubt. Every day you read in the papers of such things. Madame will ring up the police at once⁠—at once⁠—before they arrive and cut our throats.”

“Don’t get so excited, Élise. They won’t come and cut our throats at six o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Madame, I implore you, let me run out and fetch a policeman now, at once.”

“What on earth for? Don’t be silly, Élise. Go up and pack my things for Chimneys if you haven’t already done it. The new Cailleuax evening dress, and the white crêpe marocain, and⁠—yes, the black velvet⁠—black velvet is so political, is it not?”

“Madame looks ravishing in the eau de nil satin,” suggested Élise, her professional instincts reasserting themselves.