M. Berigny's accent was more marked than the Vicomte's, but still he did speak English.
"I thank you, Victor. It remains for me to once more request, in your presence, Mr. Gerald Lovell to explain how it was that he happened to dream of the face of my wife last August, in the Hôtel de Flandre, at Spa. Mr. Gerald Lovell, I have the honour to await your explanation."
The Vicomte, his arms crossed upon his chest, his left foot a little protruding, his head thrown back, awaited the explanation.
"What the deuce shall I do if he discovers her behind the screen?"
"If he does discover her--there'll be a row."
With each repetition of the statement the Vicomte's tone became more acidulated. The artist arrived at a sudden resolution.
"Then I am afraid, Vicomte, that you will have to wait."
The Vicomte looked at the artist with an evident inclination to add a cubit to his own stature.
"Is it possible that I understand your meaning, Mr. Gerald Lovell?"
"In France, Mr. Gerald Lovell, an artist is supposed to be a gentleman."
"And so in England, Vicomte. And therefore, when an artist is interrupted at his work by another gentleman, he feels himself at liberty to beg that other gentleman--to excuse him."
Mr. Lovell waved his hand, affably, in the direction of the door. The Vicomte's countenance assumed a peculiar pallor.
"You are a curious person, Mr. Gerald Lovell."
"Philippe, you had better leave the matter to me."
M. Berigny approached the painter--with a ramrod down his back.
"I have the honour, Monsieur, to request from you the name of a friend."
"Ah, Monsieur--to arrange the preliminaries!"
"Is it possible that you suppose that I am going to fight a duel?"
"Monsieur intends, then, to offer an explanation to my friend?"
"M. Berigny, I do not wish to say to you anything uncourteous, or anything unworthy an English gentleman; but I do beg you to believe that, because you choose to be an idiot, and your friend chooses to be an idiot, it does not follow that I choose to be an idiot, too."
"One other observation. I have not seen much of you, M. Beringy, but that little has not disposed me to see more. May I therefore ask you--to leave my studio?"
The Vicomte had been listening to this little dialogue. He now turned towards his friend.