A tale of genteel, smart scoundrelism, and is very ingenious as it keeps the hero of the seeming autobiography somewhat in the dark, thus avoiding explanations of the numerous "coups," and more sordid reasons for the breathless rides en automobile, at the same time stifling the conscience of the reader, as it conveys a verisimilitude of partial innocence throughout on the part of the Count's Chauffeur. 'In Paris, in Rome, in Florence, in Berlin, in Vienna — in fact, over half the face of Europe, from the Pyrenees to the Russian frontier — I am now known as "The Count's Chauffeur."'