“Love,” murmured De Medici. “A corroding and devouring passion.”
Ballau studied his cigarette.
“It’s hard to believe you’re serious, Julien,” he said. “Florence?”
“An observant father. I congratulate you, Victor.”
“Well, what do you want of me?”
“And modest. The parent ideal! Your consent, of course.”
“This, my dear Julien, is so sudden. And then your old-fashioned tactic of appealing to the usually negligible parent is somewhat alarming.”
“The fact that you’re her father,” De Medici answered, “is a matter of secondary importance, come to think of it. What I’ve chiefly come for is advice.”
“My advice,” Ballau answered softly, “is, of course, marry the gal and live happily ever afterward.”
“Thanks. But there’s another thing. Her going on with her acting.”