He rose from his seat and walked across to M. Rocheville.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “I trust you will forgive me if I am committing an impertinence, but from what I overheard I gathered that you had lost your purse. If that is so, please allow me to lend you whatever you may need to settle your account.”
“But, sir—no, really I couldn’t; it would be an unthinkable liberty.”
But Roland insisted. And having appeased the proprietor, who retired in a profusion of bows, he turned again to meet M. Rocheville’s thanks.
“But it was nothing, sir, really it was nothing, and I could not endure the sight of a gentleman being submitted to such an inconvenience.”
Monsieur Rocheville executed an elaborate bow.
“It is too kind of you, and if you will give me your address I will see that a cheque is sent to you to-morrow.”
“But I’m afraid that I go to Brussels first thing to-morrow, and I am not certain at which hotel I shall be stopping. But it does not matter.”
“But it does, of course it does,” M. Rocheville expostulated. “How shall we manage it?”
For a moment he paused, his hand raised to his forehead, essentially, Roland thought, the gesture of a bureaucrat.