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"If there were no Herr Freudenberg," she whispered, "if it were not my evil fortune, Monsieur Sir Julien, to love him so foolishly, so absolutely, so that every moment of separation is full of pain, every other man like a figure in a dream if it were not for this, Monsieur Sir Julien, I do not think that I should like to leave you so easily!" Julien made no reply.
Herr Freudenberg, with a smile, rose up and tried the door. Then he returned to his place, lit a cigarette, and leaned back in his chair. "My dear friends," he announced, "now we can talk." Monsieur Pelleman smiled. "Yes," he admitted, "we can talk. In this excellent brandy, Monsieur Carl Freudenberg, I drink your very good health. Long may these little visits of yours continue."
"It is no crime that he is in Paris," Julien objected. "In a sense it is," Kendricks said. "These incognito visits of his must soon cease if they were talked too much about. Then there is another thing. This cafe is the headquarters of German socialism in Paris, and Herr Freudenberg is the sworn enemy of socialists. He fights them with an iron hand, wherever he comes into contact with them.
"All my life I have been a straggler." "You have done your genius an ill turn, my friend," Herr Freudenberg said slowly. "No man can be at his best who knows care. I, Prince Falkenberg, I promise you that it is the truth which I have spoken, the truth which I shall show you. You lose no shadow of honor or self-respect.
There will never be anything else between us." Julien remained silent. It was so hard to say anything. The woman's tone told him that around her speech hovered a tragedy. "Now you know that Herr Freudenberg is my husband," she asked, "are you not a little afraid to be sitting here by my side?" "Why should I be?" "Don't you know," she continued, "that he is your enemy?" Julien looked grave.
I propose to Paul Jesen that his should be the hand and Le Jour the vehicle which shall bring the French people to a proper understanding of the political situation." "Who, then, are you?" Mademoiselle Susanne persisted. Herr Freudenberg barely hesitated. "Mademoiselle," he said, "we speak of great things, we three, in this little chamber of yours.
He stopped short. "Kendricks, by Jove!" he exclaimed. Kendricks, sitting alone at a small table, with a bottle of champagne in front of him and a huge cigar in his mouth, waved his hand joyfully. Then he glanced at his friend's companions, frowned for a moment, and gazed fixedly at Herr Freudenberg. "Julien, by all that's lucky!" he called out. "And I haven't been in Paris four hours!
There were you and I and our big friend from Austria, and that awful dull man from here, and the Russian. Shall you ever forget that speechless Russian, who never opened his lips except to disagree? Sometimes I caught your eye across the table. And, Sir Julien, you know, I presume, whose was the triumph of those days?" Julien smiled doubtfully. "Yours, of course," Herr Freudenberg continued.
The wonder to me is that I am ever able to tear myself away from this city of fascination." "If we could keep monsieur," the girl murmured, smiling at Henri, "I think that we should all be very well content." Herr Freudenberg made a little grimace. "But my toys!" he cried. "Who is there in Germany could make such toys as I and my factory people?
Herr Freudenberg waved her back. Line by line he read the article. When he had finished, his face was almost ghastly. He drained his glass and called for the sommelier. "Serve more wine," he ordered briefly. "What is it that you have seen?" she asked. "I was a fool not to have been prepared," he answered.