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He was a man of middle age, untidily dressed, whose clothes were covered with cigar ash and recent wine stains, whose linen was none of the cleanest, and whose eyes behind his pince-nez were already bloodshot. Herr Freudenberg, however, seemed to notice none of these unpleasant defects. He grasped him vigorously by the hand. "It is Monsieur Jesen!" he exclaimed.
He throws me a kiss. Do you wish that I sit with him? He looks, indeed, as though he had plenty to say! Or there is the melancholy Italian gentleman, who raises his glass always when I look. And the two Americans " "You have reason, little one," Monsieur Jesen interrupted. "Herr Freudenberg, this is no place for such a discussion." "Agreed!" Herr Freudenberg exclaimed.
Herr Freudenberg sat quite still for a moment. He looked at mademoiselle, the friend of Monsieur Jesen, and he realized that theirs was no casual acquaintance. In both he recognized the characteristics of fidelity. As he had always the genius to do, he took his risks. "Monsieur Jesen," he announced, "I am no German maker of toys.
It is morning, and the brain is keenest then. Don't you feel the fumes of the hot room, of the wine, of the tobacco smoke, all pass away with the touch of that soft wind?" Monsieur Jesen stared. He was conscious of a very bad headache, an uncomfortable sense that he had, as usual on his weekly holiday, eaten and drunk and smoked a great deal more than was good for him.
Sleep well, little girl." He stepped out on to the pavement. The postern door in front of them was opened, in response to Monsieur Jesen's vigorous knocking, from some invisible place by a string. The three of them climbed four flights of rickety stairs. They reached at last a stone landing. Monsieur Jesen threw open a door and led the way into an untidy-looking salon.
Kendricks strolled over to the table where Julien was and touched him on the shoulder. "Is this to be another all-night sitting?" he asked. Herr Freudenberg was deep in conversation with Monsieur Jesen the friend of mademoiselle's friend. He glanced up, but his greeting was almost perfunctory. Kendricks looked keenly at the man who was leaning back in his padded seat.
I make him this offer, mademoiselle, and it is a greater one than it sounds, for the money which I place in his hands to make this purchase five hundred thousand francs is his completely and absolutely. You move at once into apartments befitting your new position. Monsieur Paul Jesen is no longer a struggling and ill-paid journalist.
I offer you this splendid future, you and Monsieur Jesen there, on one condition, and it is a small one, for already the truth has found its way a little into his brain. Le Jour has supported always, wholly and entirely, the entente between Great Britain and your country. I have tried to point out to Paul Jesen here what all far-seeing people must soon appreciate that the entente is doomed."
The girl glanced at Jesen. Jesen was looking away out of the dusty window. "Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg continued, "I will not weary you at this hour in the morning with politics. I have talked long with Monsieur Jesen and I think that I have shown him something of the truth. You came to the rescue of Great Britain when she lay friendless and powerless.
"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 "
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