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"Well said, M. Grarm Varn," cried Frederic, forgetting his recent lesson in English names. "Alain underrates that great man. How could an Englishman appreciate him so well?" "'Ma foi!" returned Graham, quietly. "I am studying to think at Paris, in order some day or other to know how to act in London. Time for the Bois. Lemercier, we meet at seven, Philippe's."
Ah! is not that my English friend, Grarm Varn?" here, quitting the arm of Duplessis, Lemercier stopped a gentleman who was about to pass him unnoticing. "Bon jour, mon ami! how long have you been at Paris?" "I only arrived last evening," answered Graham, "and my stay will be so short that it is a piece of good luck, my dear Lemercier, to meet with you, and exchange a cordial shake of the hand."
Here there was a ring at the outer door of the apartment, and in another minute the valet ushered in a gentleman somewhere about the age of thirty, of prepossessing countenance, and with the indefinable air of good-breeding and 'usage du monde. Frederic started up to greet cordially the new-comer, and introduced him to the Marquis under the name of "Sare Grarm Varn."
"No, I do not; it is some days since I saw Alain. But Duplessis will be sure to know." Here the financier rejoined them. "Mon cher, Grarm Varn wants to know for what Sabine shades Rochebriant has deserted the 'fumum opes strepitumque' of the capital." "Ah! the Marquis is a friend of yours, Monsieur?"
"I can see V a r, the next letter looks like n." "What's that?" demanded Fred abruptly. "I can't make out the whole of it yet," answered George. "I don't see what Varn spells anyway." "You better look again," suggested Fred. "I think I know the boat. I guess it's the Varmint." "That's it," said George quickly. "Only there's something right after the word. I can't just see what that is."
Tortha Karf began, alphabetically, to blaspheme every god he had ever heard of. He had only gotten as far as a Fourth Level deity named Allah when a red light began flashing in front of Asthar Varn, and the voice of a page-robot, amplified, roared: "Point of special urgency! Point of special urgency! It has been requested that the news telecast screen be activated at once, with playback to 1107.
"Well said, M. Grarm Varn," cried Frederic, forgetting his recent lesson in English names. "Alain underrates that great man. How could an Englishman appreciate him so well?" "'Ma foi!" returned Graham, quietly. "I am studying to think at Paris, in order some day or other to know how to act in London. Time for the Bois. Lemercier, we meet at seven, Philippe's."
Permit me, Marquis, to submit to you the consideration whether Grarm Varn is a fair rendering of my name as truthfully printed on this card." The inscription on the card, thus drawn from its case and placed in Alain's hand, was No. Rue d'Anjou. The Marquis gazed at it as he might on a hieroglyphic, and passed it on to Lemercier in discreet silence.
"Oh," said Lemercier, conceitedly, and passing his hand through his scented locks, "women are different; love levels all ranks. I don't blame Ruy Blas for accepting the love of a queen, but I do blame him for passing himself off as a noble, a plagiarism, by the by, from an English play. I do not love the English enough to copy them. A propos, what has become of ce beau Grarm Varn?
Here there was a ring at the outer door of the apartment, and in another minute the valet ushered in a gentleman somewhere about the age of thirty, of prepossessing countenance, and with the indefinable air of good-breeding and 'usage du monde. Frederic started up to greet cordially the new-comer, and introduced him to the Marquis under the name of "Sare Grarm Varn."
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