Evidently, however, the representative of the French
Government had nothing to fear for the moment, at the hands of his
powerful adversary. Blakeney, with his most inane laugh and pleasant
good-nature, was solemnly patting him on the back.
"I am so demmed sorry. . ." he was saying cheerfully, "so very
sorry. . .I seem to have upset you. . .eating soup, too. . .nasty,
awkward thing, soup. . .er. . .Begad!--a friend of mine died once. . .
er. . .choked. . .just like you. . .with a spoonful of soup.
And he smiled shyly, good-humouredly, down at Chauvelin.
"Odd's life!" he continued, as soon as the latter had somewhat
recovered himself, "beastly hole this. . .ain't it now? La! you
don't mind?" he added, apologetically, as he sat down on a chair close
to the table and drew the soup tureen towards him. "That fool Brogard
seems to be asleep or something."
There was a second plate on the table, and he calmly helped
himself to soup, then poured himself out a glass of wine.
For a moment Marguerite wondered what Chauvelin would do. His
disguise was so good that perhaps he meant, on recovering himself, to
deny his identity: but Chauvelin was too astute to make such an
obviously false and childish move, and already he too had stretched
out his hand and said pleasantly,--
"I am indeed charmed to see you Sir Percy.
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