Duncombe nodded. There did not seem to be much that he could say. He mingled with the other guests, and observed his social duties. But he watched the Baron, and he took care that they left together.
"Are you going my way, Baron?" he asked, as they stepped into the Place Vendôme.
"I was going to the Cercle Anglais," the Baron answered. "Do you belong?"
"I am up for a month's membership, but I am not elected yet," Duncombe answered.
"Then you shall come in as my guest," the Baron declared.
"You are exceedingly kind," Duncombe answered. "I wonder whether I might presume still further upon your good nature and ask you a question."
"The asking," the Baron murmured, "involves nothing."
"You bear, I am told, an honored name, and you are well received in society. Why do you associate with murderers and thieves in that hell of a café where I saw you first?"
The Baron smiled.
"My friend," he said, "I seek always the life amusing, and I find it there."