Comtesse.  Well, well, I shall take care of you, petite.

Maggie.  Do you know him?

Comtesse.  Do I know him!  The last time I saw him he asked me to—­to—­ hem!—­ma cherie, it was thirty years ago.

Maggie.  Thirty years!

Comtesse.  I was a pretty woman then.  I dare say I shall detest him now; but if I find I do not—­let us have a little plot—­I shall drop this book; and then perhaps you will be so charming as—­as not to be here for a little while?

[Mr. Venables, who enters, is such a courtly seigneur that he seems to bring the eighteenth century with him; you feel that his sedan chair is at the door.  He stoops over MAGGIE’s plebeian hand.]

Venables.  I hope you will pardon my calling, Mrs. Shand; we had such a pleasant talk the other evening.

[Maggie, of course, is at once deceived by his gracious manner.]

Maggie.  I think it’s kind of you.  Do you know each other?  The Comtesse de la Briere.

[He repeats the name with some emotion, and the Comtesse, half mischievously, half sadly, holds a hand before her face.]

Venables.  Comtesse.

Comtesse.  Thirty years, Mr. Venables.

[He gallantly removes the hand that screens her face.]

Venables.  It does not seem so much.

[She gives him a similar scrutiny.]

Comtesse.  Mon Dieu, it seems all that.

[They smile rather ruefully.  Maggie like a kind hostess relieves the tension.]

Maggie.  The Comtesse has taken a cottage in Surrey for the summer.

Venables.  I am overjoyed.

Comtesse.  No, Charles, you are not.  You no longer care.  Fickle one! 
And it is only thirty years.

[He sinks into a chair beside her.]

Venables.  Those heavenly evenings, Comtesse, on the Bosphorus.

Comtesse.  I refuse to talk of them.  I hate you.

[But she drops the book, and Maggie fades from the room.  It is not a very clever departure, and the old diplomatist smiles.  Then he sighs a beautiful sigh, for he does all things beautifully.]

Venables.  It is moonlight, Comtesse, on the Golden Horn.

Comtesse.  Who are those two young things in a caique?

Venables.  Is he the brave Leander, Comtesse, and is she Hero of the
Lamp?

Comtesse.  No, she is the foolish wife of the French Ambassador, and he is a good-for-nothing British attache trying to get her husband’s secrets out of her.

Venables.  Is it possible!  They part at a certain garden gate.

Comtesse.  Oh, Charles, Charles!

Venables.  But you promised to come back; I waited there till dawn. 
Blanche, if you had come back—­