When she had done he shook his head.
His acquaintance with French was limited to the vocabulary of food.
"Guillotine!" he murmured, the sole word of her discourse that he had understood.
"Oui, oui!
Guillotine.
Enfin ...!" cried the woman excitedly.
Encouraged by her success in conveying even one word of her remarks, she began a third time.
"Excuse me," said Gerald.
"Madame is talking about the execution at Auxerre the day after to-morrow.
N'est-ce-pas, madame, que vous parliez de Rivain?"
The Englishman glared angrily at Gerald's officious interruption.
But the woman smiled benevolently on Gerald, and insisted on talking to her friend through him.
And the Englishman had to make the best of the situation.
"There isn't a restaurant in Paris to-night where they aren't talking about that execution," said Gerald on his own account.
"Indeed!" observed the Englishman.
Wine affected them in different ways.
Now a fragile, short young Frenchman, with an extremely pale face ending in a thin black imperial, appeared at the entrance.
He looked about, and, recognizing the woman of the scarlet cloak, very discreetly saluted her.
Then he saw Gerald, and his worn, fatigued features showed a sudden, startled smile.
He came rapidly forward, hat in hand, seized Gerald's palm and greeted him effusively.
"My wife," said Gerald, with the solemn care of a man who is determined to prove that he is entirely sober.
The young man became grave and excessively ceremonious.
He bowed low over Sophia's hand and kissed it.
Her impulse was to laugh, but the gravity of the young man's deference stopped her.
She glanced at Gerald, blushing, as if to say:
"This comedy is not my fault."
Gerald said something, the young man turned to him and his face resumed its welcoming smile.
"This is Monsieur Chirac," Gerald at length completed the introduction, "a friend of mine when I lived in Paris."
He was proud to have met by accident an acquaintance in a restaurant.
It demonstrated that he was a Parisian, and improved his standing with the whiskered Englishman and the vermilion cloak.
"It is the first time you come Paris, madame?" Chirac addressed himself to Sophia, in limping, timorous English.
"Yes," she giggled.
He bowed again.
Chirac, with his best compliments, felicitated Gerald upon his marriage.
"Don't mention it!" said the humorous Gerald in English, amused at his own wit; and then: "What about this execution?"
"Ah!" replied Chirac, breathing out a long breath, and smiling at Sophia.
"Rivain!
Rivain!"
He made a large, important gesture with his hand.
It was at once to be seen that Gerald had touched the topic which secretly ravaged the supper-world as a subterranean fire ravages a mine.
"I go!" said Chirac, with pride, glancing at Sophia, who smiled self-consciously.
Chirac entered upon a conversation with Gerald in French.
Sophia comprehended that Gerald was surprised and impressed by what Chirac told him and that Chirac in turn was surprised.
Then Gerald laboriously found his pocket-book, and after some fumbling with it handed it to Chirac so that the latter might write in it.
"Madame!" murmured Chirac, resuming his ceremonious stiffness in order to take leave.
"Alors, c'est entendu, mon cher ami!" he said to Gerald, who nodded phlegmatically.
And Chirac went away to the next table but one, where were the three lorettes and the two middle-aged men.
He was received there with enthusiasm.
Sophia began to be teased by a little fear that Gerald was not quite his usual self.
She did not think of him as tipsy.