greetings from the crowd at déjeuner. It may be true that some of the remarks were a bit free but not one was the least bit offensive so far as any deeper intention went. All hands "tutoyéd " her, I noticed, which was quite permissible, as here in France there is a sort of esprit de corps between members of the same craft of manual labour, who use between themselves the familiar "thee" and "thou."
Nobody scored anything on the Countess Rosalie. She gave them all as good as they sent, and was a pretty sight doing it, with her red cheeks, even white teeth, and saucy pouting lips. She was not a little woman, but her daintiness gave one that impression. I noticed, though, that when one of the older chauffeurs got up to look at the carburetter of her car, which she said was flooding all the time, she was rather the taller of the two, although he looked a fair-sized man.
The tables outside were filled, so she came inside, where the seat opposite me appealed to her as the most desirable because it was next to the window.
"Monsieur will permit me to sit here?" she asked, with a smile and about as keen a look as I ever got from any pair of eyes. It wasn't a hard look, but just to size me up and form an idea of how much of a fool or knave lived under that black soutane.
"Pray do so, madame," I answered. "It is not too hot here by the window."
She thanked me, and sat down. I picked up my book, and I could feel her bright eyes searching me as I read. French is like a mother-tongue to me,
