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Updated: June 21, 2025
Chance was kind, too, when it brought us up against Freudenberg. Remember, Julien, journalism isn't the gentlemanly art it was ten or twenty years ago. You can take up your pen and stab. That's what we want." "It's fine," Julien declared. "It is war!" Kendricks rose to his feet. "I'm going to bed," he announced. "The last month has been exciting and there's plenty more to come. I need sleep.
"It may be the man who writes me here," he told her. She rose softly to her feet and pointed to the door which divided the apartments. He nodded and she passed through into the inner room. Julien went to the outside door and threw it open. It was indeed Herr Freudenberg who stood there. "Come in," he invited. Herr Freudenberg removed his hat and entered.
To-day she is changed, triste when he is not here, faithful in a most un-Parisianlike manner." They swung round to the left. "Herr Freudenberg," Estermen continued, "is a great lover of the night life of Paris. He goes from one cafe to the other. He is untired, sleepless. He seems to find inspiration where others find fatigue." Julien raised his eyebrows, but he said nothing.
Jesen has lost his head a little; or is it the lash of his master which he feels? How can one tell?" "After tonight," Julien remarked, with a smile, "who will read Le Jour? I shall tell the story of the purchase of that paper by Herr Freudenberg. French people will not love to think that the pen of Jesen has been guided by the hand of Germany." Madame Christophor made a little grimace.
"This is not a night for memories. I have lived with the ghosts of them long enough." Their party became larger. The little dancing girl came to drink wine with them and remained to listen to Herr Freudenberg. A friend of Mademoiselle Ixe a tall, fair girl in a blue satin gown detached herself from her friends and joined them.
He is apparently also devoted to mademoiselle, the daughter of madame with the double chin. He is contemplating, I believe, an alliance with the bourgeoisie." Herr Freudenberg watched the group for a moment with a slight frown. "They are types," he said under his breath, "absolute types. Kendricks is studying them, without a doubt." He continued his scrutiny of the room.
Have you seen Herr Freudenberg this week?" Julien shook his head. "Not since we were all at the Rat Mort together nearly a month ago. Did I tell you that he made me an offer then?" "No, you told me nothing about it," Kendricks replied, leaning forward with interest. "What sort of an offer? Go on, tell me about it?"
While Herr Freudenberg talked the sommelier had gravely served the champagne in some tall and wonderful glasses brought from a private cabinet by Monsieur Albert himself to honor his most treasured visitors. Herr Freudenberg raised his glass, clinked it against the glass of mademoiselle, clinked it against Julien's glass. "Come," he cried, "to our better acquaintance, to our better understanding!
There are other ways of securing the non-continuance of those letters than by purchase." "Precisely," Julien answered, "but Paris, in its beaten thoroughfares, at any rate, is a law-abiding city. I don't fancy that I shall come to much grief here." "A brave man," Herr Freudenberg remarked, "seldom believes that he will come to grief."
So far as my means permit, I may travel. I may play games, take a walk in the morning, play bridge in the afternoon, eat heavily and sleep early. What is there left, Herr Freudenberg tell me of your wisdom for a man about whose ears has come crashing the scaffolding of his life?" Herr Freudenberg looked across at his companion, and in that dimly-lit room his eyes were bright and his lips firm.
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