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Updated: June 21, 2025
"There are many ladies, without a doubt, who live in the Avenue de St. Paul." "The name of this one," Estermen continued slowly, "is Madame Christophor." Herr Freudenberg sat quite still in his place. His eyes seemed fixed upon a cluster of the roses which hung down from the other side of the sweet-smelling barrier by which they were surrounded.
"Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg replied, "your question is the question of an intelligent woman. Why do I do this? Not for nothing, I assure you. It is my custom to make bargains, indeed, but I make them so that those with whom I deal shall never regret the day they met Herr Freudenberg.
"There is no doubt," Monsieur Decheles asserted calmly, "that the influence of the late king was immense among the people of France. He appealed somehow to their imaginations, a great monarch who was also a bon viveur, who had lived his days in Paris as the others." Herr Freudenberg nodded thoughtfully. "He is dead," he said, "and history will write him down as a great king.
It is a great policy to deal with your enemies one at a time." Herr Freudenberg stretched out his arms across the table. "My friend," he pronounced, "without faith there is no genius. Without genius there is no government. I only ask you to believe this one thing. Germany is not and never has been the traditional enemy of France.
Herr Freudenberg has made one attempt upon me and has failed. I do not think that he is likely to risk everything by any open assaults. In these civilized days of the police, the telephone and the law courts, one is not so much at the mercy of a strong man as in the old days. I do not fear Herr Freudenberg." Madame Christophor shrugged her shoulders.
"You are ready, Julien?" he asked. "Quite," Julien answered. They made their adieux. Herr Freudenberg watched them leave the room. The man by his side Monsieur Jesen also watched a little curiously. "An English journalist," Herr Freudenberg remarked, "some say a man of ability. I find him a trifle boisterous and uncouth. Monsieur Jesen, our conversation interests me immensely. I feel sure "
"What brings Herr Freudenberg to Paris?" he inquired once more. Estermen was suddenly reticent. "He has affairs here," he said. "He is also like us others a man who loves his pleasure. You will find him tonight with a most charming companion Mademoiselle Ixe of the Opera. Before the coming of Herr Freudenberg, I remember her well the companion at times of many.
Mademoiselle, the companion of Monsieur Jesen, had had enough of this. It was her weekly holiday. She yawned and tapped her friend upon the arm. "My dear Paul," she protested, "while you and Herr Freudenberg talk as two men who have immense affairs, Marguerite and I we weary ourselves. If I am to be alone like this, very good. I speak to my friends. There is Monsieur de Chaussin there.
Come there, and presently Mademoiselle Ixe will sing to us, mademoiselle with the yellow hair there will dance, the orchestra shall play their maddest music. This is Paris and we are young. Ah, my friends, it comes to us but seldom to live like this!" They all sat down together. Herr Freudenberg gave reckless orders for more wine.
The maitre d'hotel departed, but for the next hour or so his eyes were seldom far away from the table where sat his most esteemed client. Once or twice, others of the diners sent for him. "Henri," one asked, and then another, "tell us, who is it that dines like a prince under the canopy of pink roses?" Henri smiled. "Monsieur," he replied, "it is Herr Carl Freudenberg of Leipzig."
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