It was not long before the waiter came to me with the request that he might make known to a young French lady travelling alone any news that would interest one of her nationality.
"Certainly," answered I."Take the telegram to her that she may read it for herself." "But, sir, she knows no English, and although I understand a little French, I cannot speak it." "Then bring me the telegram, and point out to me the lady." "It is the lady who arrived yesterday," answered the waiter.

"She came, as I understand, with an old lady and gentleman, but they have left this morning for the Isle of Wight, and she remains alone." He indicated the fair traveller, and I might have guessed her nationality from the fact that, unlike the Englishwomen present, she was breakfasting in her hat.

She was a pretty woman--no longer quite young--with a pale oval face and deep brown hair.

As I approached she, having breakfasted, was drawing her veil down over her face, and subsequently attended to her hat with pretty, studied movements of the hands and arms which were essentially French.
She returned my bow with quiet self-possession, and graciously looked to me to speak.
"The waiter tells me," I said in French, "that I am fortunate enough to possess some news which may be of interest to you." "If it is news of France, Monsieur, I am _sur des epingles_ until I hear it." I laid the telegram before her, and she looked at it with a pretty shake of the head which wafted to me some faint and pleasant scent.
"Translate, if you please," she said.

"I blush for an ignorance of which you might have spared me the confession." It was a pretty profile that bent over the telegram, and I wished that I had arrived sooner, before she had lowered her veil.