at Trouville, yes’day aft’noon; c’udn’ a’ b’en more’n four o’clock—­hol’ on though, yes ’twas, ‘twas nearer five, about twunty minutes t’ five, say—­an’ this feller tells me—­” He cackled with laughter as palpably disingenuous as the corroborative details he thought necessary to muster, then he became serious, as if marvelling at his own wondrous verdancy.  “M’ friend, that feller soitn’y found me easy.  But he can’t say I ain’t game; he passes me the limes, but I’m jest man enough to drink his health fer it in this sweet, sound ole-fashioned cider ’at ain’t got a headache in a barrel of it.  He played me gud, and here’s to him!”

Despite the heartiness of the sentiment, my honest tourist’s enthusiasm seemed largely histrionic, and his quaffing of the beaker too reminiscent of drain-the-wine-cup-free in the second row of the chorus, for he absently allowed it to dangle from his hand before raising it to his lips.  However, not all of its contents was spilled, and he swallowed a mouthful of the sweet, sound, old-fashioned cider—­but by mistake, I was led to suppose, from the expression of displeasure which became so deeply marked upon his countenance as to be noticeable, even in the feeble lamplight.

I tarried no longer, but bidding this good youth and the generations of Baudry good-night, hastened on to my belated dinner.

“Amedee,” I said, when my cigar was lighted and the usual hour of consultation had arrived; “isn’t that old lock on the chest where Madame Brossard keeps her silver getting rather rusty?”

“Monsieur, we have no thieves here.  We are out of the world.”

“Yes, but Trouville is not so far away.”

“Truly.”

“Many strange people go to Trouville:  grand-dukes, millionaires, opera singers, princes, jockeys, gamblers—­”

“Truly, truly!”

“And tourists,” I finished.

“That is well known,” assented Amedee, nodding.

“It follows,” I continued with the impressiveness of all logicians, “that many strange people may come from Trouville.  In their excursions to the surrounding points of interest—­”

“Eh, monsieur, but that is true!” he interrupted, laying his right forefinger across the bridge of his nose, which was his gesture when he remembered anything suddenly.  “There was a strange monsieur from Trouville here this very day.”

“What kind of person was he?”

“A foreigner, but I could not tell from what country.”

“What time of day was he here?” I asked, with growing interest.

“Toward the middle of the afternoon.  I was alone, except for Glouglou, when he came.  He wished to see the whole house and I showed him what I could, except of course monsieur’s pavilion, and the Grande Suite.  Monsieur the Professor and that other monsieur had gone to the forest, but I did not feel at liberty to exhibit their rooms without Madame Brossard’s permission, and she was spending the day at Dives.  Besides,” added the good man, languidly snapping a napkin at a moth near one of the candles, “the doors were locked.”