"He needn't come, if you don't wish it."
"Perhaps it's better than being alone with her," he groaned. "And she doesn't deceive me. Ah, I should like sometimes to say to her, 'Do what you like; amuse yourself, I shall not see. It wouldn't matter.' If she did that, she mightn't be so hard to me. You wonder that I say this, that I feel it like this? Well, I'm a man; I'm not a dog. I don't dirty people when I touch them."
I got up and walked to the hearthrug. I stood there with my back to him. He blew his nose loudly, then took the bottle; I heard the wine trickle in the glass and the sound of his noisy swallowing. There was a long silence. He struck a match and lit his cigar. Then he folded up the notes I had given him, and the clasp of his pocket-book clicked.
"I have to go with her to rehearsal," he said.
I turned round and walked toward him. His uneasy deference returned, he jumped up with a bow and an air of awkward embarrassment.
"Your Majesty is very good. Your Majesty pardons me? I have abused your Majesty's kindness. You understand, I have nobody to speak to."
"I understand very well, M. Struboff. I am very sorry. Be kind to her and she will change toward you."
He shook his head ponderously.
"She won't change," he said, and stood shuffling his feet as he waited to be dismissed. I gave him my hand. (O Coralie, you and your bread! I understood.)
"She'll get accustomed to you," I murmured, with a reminiscence of William Adolphus.