“Oh, Jules!” said Phinuit, and laughed.  “Jules is my younger brother.  When he was demobilised his job was gone, back home, and I wished him on Mr. Monk as a chauffeur.  We’re always kidding each other like that.”

Now what could be more reasonable?  Duchemin wondered, and concluded that, if anything, it would be the truth.  But he did not pretend to himself that he wasn’t, quite illogically and with no provocation whatsoever, most vilely prejudiced against the lot of them.

“But you must know America, to speak the language as well as you do.”

Duchemin nodded:  “But very slightly, monsieur.”

“I was wondering ...  Somehow I can’t get it out of my head I’ve seen you somewhere before to-day.”

“It is quite possible:  when one moves about the world, one is visible—­n’est-ce pas, monsieur?  But my home,” Duchemin added, “is Paris.”

“I guess,” said Phinuit in a tone of singular disappointment, “it must have been there I saw you.”

Duchemin’s bow signified that he was content to let it go at that.  Moreover, Monk was signalling to Phinuit with his expressive eyebrows.

“What about the car, Phin?”

Examining his wrist watch, Phinuit drew near his employer.  “Jules should not need more than half an hour now, monsieur.”

Was there, in this employment of French to respond to a question couched in English, the suggestion of a subtle correction?  From employe to employer?  If not, why must Duchemin have thought so?  If so, why did Monk, without betraying a sign of feeling the reproof, continue in French?

“Did Jules say half an hour?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“My God!” Monk addressed the company:  “If I were pressed for time, I would rather have one of Jules’ half-hours than anybody else’s hour and a half.”

“Let us hope, however,” the Comtesse de Lorgnes interposed sweetly, “by that time this so dreadful tempest will have moderated.”

“One has that hope,” her husband uttered in a sepulchral voice.

“But, if the storm continue,” Madame de Sevenie said, “you must not think of travelling farther—­on such a night.  The chateau is large, there is ample accommodation for all...”

There was a negligible pause, during which Duchemin saw the long lashes of the Comtesse de Lorgnes curtain momentarily her disastrous violet eyes:  it was a sign of assent.  Immediately it was followed by the least of negative movements of her head.  She was looking directly at Phinuit, who, so far as Duchemin could see, made no sign of any sort, who neither spoke nor acted on the signals which, indubitably, he had received.  On the other hand, it was Monk who acknowledged the proffered courtesy.

“Madame de Sevenie is too good, but we could not dream of imposing ...  No, but truly, madame, I am obliged to ask my guests to proceed with me to Millau to-night regardless of the weather.  Important despatches concerning my business await me there; I must consider them and reply by cable to-night without fail.  It is really of the most pressing necessity.  Otherwise we should be honoured...”