“But tell us about yourself,” said Selden. “What are you doing in Paris?”
“It is a long story,” answered the baron musingly. “After the king’s death—which, as you know, was very sudden—I felt as you had felt—though with much more reason—that I was finished, that there was nothing left for me to do but to creep away somewhere and die. Then Jeneski sent for me. He asked me to be his minister in place of one whom he had discovered to be a traitor to him. And I found that I still loved my country. We get along very well together.”
“And his wife?” asked Rénee, her eyes shining.
“She has already become a sort of saint to her people; they adore her, and they have reason to, for there is no country in Europe which progresses as ours does. She is very happy.”
“Have you ever heard from the Countess Rémond?” Selden asked.
“Not directly; but I believe she is in Budapest plotting to place Charles back on the throne. It seems she has a passion for restorations. That poor M. Halsey has been released, as perhaps you know. He was sent to a maison de santé for a time, but Jeneski refused to press the case.”
They sat silent for a moment with full memories and tender hearts. Then the baron looked at his watch.
“It is good to be here,” he said; “it renews my youth. But I must go. M. Rizzi,” he added to the bowing restaurateur, “permit me to compliment you upon this little supper. I have never tasted better mayonnaise, and your surprise was exquisite. No—I shall not need a cab—I have but a step to go.”
They passed together into the street.
“My hotel is just there,” said the baron. “So I shall bid you good-bye.” He looked at them for a moment pensively. “The French have a proverb,” he added, “‘To part is to die a little!’ It is true, especially for the old. Write me sometimes.”