“Do you hear that heavy, regular footfall in the street?”
“No, mon ami.”
And it was true; plunged into a delicious oblivion she was not listening for sounds from the outer world.
“There’s no doubt this time, it’s he, my man, the little one, the bird. I know his step so well that I could pick it out among a thousand.”
And he returned to the window.
These alarms set his nerves on edge. Since the failure of the 28th of February he had lost his admirable assurance and was beginning to anticipate a long and difficult affair. Most of his companions were growing discouraged and he himself suspicious. Everything irritated him.
And now she made an unfortunate remark:
“Don’t forget, mon ami, that I’ve got you an invitation to dinner to-morrow at my brother’s. It will be an opportunity of meeting.”
His irritation burst forth:
“Your brother Wallstein! Ah, yes, let’s talk of him! He’s a true Jew if you like. This week Henri Léon told him about an interesting undertaking, a propagandist newspaper which must be distributed gratuitously in large quantities throughout the country and in the manufacturing centres. He pretended not to understand what Léon was driving at and gave him advice—good advice! Does your brother imagine for a moment that it is his advice that we want?”