“I tell you I gave it you! It is this bleak country that has warped your brain. Never did the box leave my hands until I gave it into yours!”
“And I say you did not! Saperlipopette, am I a fool that I should forget? Now listen to what you have done! You have lost the stockings of Monsieur! By your incalculable stupidity, the stupidity of a pig, an ass—”
“Sacré nom de Dieu! Am I to be disturbed by your shrieking?” Philip had flung down the haresfoot. He slewed round in his chair. “Shut the door! Is it that you wish to annoy my uncle that you shout and scream in his house?” His voice was thunderous.
François spread out his hands.
“M’sieur, I ask pardon! It is this âne, this careless gaillard—”
“Mais, m’sieur!” protested Jacques. “It is unjust; it is false!”
“Ecoutez donc, m’sieur!” begged François, as the stern grey eyes went from his face to that of the unhappy Jacques. “It is the bandbox that contains your stockings—the stockings aux oiseaux-mouches! Ah, would that I had carried it myself! Would that—”
“Would that you would be quiet!” said Philip severely. “If either of you have lost those stockings …” He paused, and once more his eyes travelled from one to the other. “I shall seek another valet.”
François became tearful.
“Ah, no, no, m’sieur! It is this imbécile, this crapaud—”
“M’sieu’, je vous implore—”
Philip pointed dramatically across the room. Both men looked fearfully in the direction of that accusing finger.
“Ah!” François darted forward. “La voilà! What did I say?” He clasped the box to his breast. “What did I say?”
“But it is not so!” cried Jacques. “What did you say? You said you had not seen the box! What did I say? I said—”
“Enough!” commanded Philip. “I will not endure this bickering! Be quiet, François! Little monkey that you are!”
“M’sieur!” François was hurt. His sharp little face fell into lines of misery.
“Little monkey,” continued Philip inexorably, “with more thought for your chattering than for my welfare.”
“Ah, no, no, m’sieur! I swear it is not so! By the—”
“I do not want your oaths,” said Philip cruelly. “Am I to wait all night for my cravat, while you revile the good Jacques?”
François cast the box from him.
“Ah, misérable! The cravat! Malheureux, get thee gone!” He waved agitated hands at Jacques. “You hinder me! You retard me! You upset Monsieur! Va-t-en!”
Jacques obeyed meekly, and Philip turned back to the mirror. To him came François, wreathed once more in smiles.
“He means well, ce bon Jacques,” he said, busy with the cravat. “But he is sot, you understand, très sot!” He pushed Philip’s chin up with a gentle hand. “He annoys m’sieur, ah oui! But he is a good garçon, when all is said.”
“It is you who annoy me,” answered Philip. “Not so tight, not so tight! Do you wish to choke me?”
“Pardon, m’sieur! No, it is not François who annoys you! Ah, mille fois non! François—perhaps he is a little monkey, if m’sieur says so, but he is a very good valet, n’est-ce pas? A monkey, if m’sieur pleases, but very clever with a cravat. M’sieur has said it himself.”
“You are a child,” said Philip. “Yes, that is very fair.” He studied his reflection. “I am pleased with it.”
“Aha!” François clasped his hands delightedly. “M’sieur is no longer enraged! Voyons, I go to fetch the vest of m’sieur!”
Presently, kneeling before his master and adjusting his stockings, he volunteered another piece of information.
“Me, I have been in this country before. I understand well the ways of it. I understand the English, oh, de part en part! I know them for a foolish race, en somme—saving always m’sieur, who is more French than English—but never, never have I had the misfortune to meet so terrible an Englishman as this servant of m’sieur’s uncle, this Moggat. Si entêté, si impoli! He looks on me with a suspicion! I cannot tell m’sieur of his so churlish demeanour! He thinks, perhaps, that I go to take his fine coat. Bah! I spit upon it! I speak to him as m’sieur has bid me—très doucement. He pretends he cannot understand what it is I say! Me, who speak English aussi bien que le Français! Deign to enter into these shoes, m’sieur! I tell him I hold him in contempt! He makes a reniflement in his nose, and he mutters ‘damned leetle frog-eater!’ Grand Dieu, I could have boxed his ears, the impudent!”
“I hope you did not?” said Philip anxiously.
“Ah, bah! Would I so demean myself, m’sieur? It is I who am of a peaceable nature, n’est-ce pas? But Jacques—voyons, c’est autre chose! He is possessed of the hot temper, ce pauvre Jacques. I fear for that Moggat if he enrages our Jacques.” He shook his head solemnly, and picked up the grey satin coat. “If m’sieur would find it convenient to rise? Ah, bien!” He coaxed Philip into the coat, bit by bit. “I say to you, m’sieur, I am consumed of an anxiety. Jacques, he is a veritable fire-eater when he is roused, not like me, who am always doux comme un enfant. I think, perhaps, he will refuse to remain in the house with this pig of a Moggat.”
Philip shook out his ruffles.
“I have never noticed that Jacques showed signs of a so violent temper,” he remarked.
“But no! Of a surety, he would not exhibit his terrible passion to m’sieur! Is it that I should permit
