"Elise must give me French lessons every day
while she does my hair. I hope she has the right accent."
"He's saying that this amphitheatre was once almost as large as the one
at Nimes, but that it would only hold about ten thousand spectators,"
explained the chauffeur, who was engaged partly for his French and
knowledge of France.
"It's nonsense bothering to know that now, when the place is tumbling to
pieces," sneered her ladyship.
"I beg your pardon, my lady; I only thought that, as a rule, the best
people do feel bound to know these things. But of course--" He paused
deferentially, without a twinkle in his eye, though I was pressing my
lips tightly together, and trying not to shake spasmodically.
"Oh, well, go on. What else does the old boy say, then?" groaned Lady
Turnour, _martyrisee_.
Mr. Bane or Dane didn't dare to glance at me. With perfect gravity he
translated the guide's best bits, enlarging upon them here and there in
a way which showed that he had independent knowledge of his own. And it
was a feather in his cap that his eloquence eventually interested Lady
Turnour.
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