He stood up to greet his host. There was no longer hint of fears about him. His narrow eyes smiled. His teeth glittered in the wide mouth as he laughed.
“Toasting myself like a martyr at your fireplace, Victor,” he said.
The two men shook hands. Ballau was a man of fifty-five, gentle-spoken, restrained of manner and, in his very bearing, a connoisseur of life. His hair was gray. He was tall and stood erect.
“You made quite a picture by the fireplace, Julien,” he said. “Gad, you get to look more and more medieval. Florence come in yet?”
“No, thank Heaven.”
“Hm.” Ballau looked at his friend. “Shall I turn on some lights?”
“Nicer this way,” De Medici answered. “I’m in a soft and romantic mood.”
Ballau sat down. The two lighted cigarettes. De Medici puffed calmly.
“You see,” he said, smiling at his host, “it’s the first chance I’ve had of getting you alone in a week. You’re an elusive parent.”
Ballau nodded. “What’s happened?”