“My dear baron,” he said, and stepped forward with hand outstretched.
The baron adjusted his glass and looked to see who it was.
“Why, it is M. Selden!” he cried. “My dear friend!” and he caught Selden’s hands in both of his and shook them up and down, his face irradiated. “How glad I am to see you again! Come—we must have a talk—yes?”
“By all means! But first I want you to meet some one,” and he caught the baron’s arm and guided him to the spot where Rénee waited. “Baron,” he said, “permit me to introduce you to my wife.”
“Your wife!” The baron’s lips were trembling as he pressed them to Rénee’s hand. “Tiens!” and he dropped his glass and polished it vigorously. “But, my dear children—how happy you make me! I should like to embrace you! I am a silly old man—yes?” and he touched his handkerchief to his eyes without shame. “But you recall so many things! Where shall we go? We cannot talk here. To Rizzi’s—it is but a step!” and seizing an arm of each, he led them down the great stairway and across the square, talking in broken sentences all the way.
Monsieur Rizzi knew the Baron Lappo, and he snatched the reservation card from a glass on the corner table and seated the baron and his guests there, and himself took the order.
“Let me see,” said the baron, “you used to have a Moët et Chandon, very dry....”
“Ah, yes, the ’98,” said M. Rizzi. “We still have a few bottles, M. le Baron.”
“It is foolish at my age, at this hour,” said the baron; “but never mind; and a little lobster, yes? with mayonnaise. I have not forgotten your mayonnaise. And afterwards—what?”
“Permit me,” said M. Rizzi; “a surprise.”