If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. He had thought it might have that effect. ’ ‘You mean I need not have said it? Damnation. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. He then barred and double-locked the door, took out the key, (a precautionary measure which, with a grim smile, he said he never omitted,) thrust it into his vest, and motioning the couple to follow him, led the way to the inner room.
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