Kendricks nodded.
"It is sound," he agreed. "I will join you, with pleasure."
"Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg continued, "permit me to introduce my new friend, Mr. Kendricks. Mr. Kendricks—Mademoiselle Ixe. We will now begin, if it is your pleasure, to spend the evening. There is room in our corner, Mr. Kendricks. Come there, and presently Mademoiselle Ixe will sing to us, mademoiselle with the yellow hair there will dance, the orchestra shall play their maddest music. This is Paris and we are young. Ah, my friends, it comes to us but seldom to live like this!"
They all sat down together. Herr Freudenberg gave reckless orders for more wine. The chef d'orchestre was at his elbow, Albert hovered in the background. Kendricks leaned over and whispered in his friend's ear.
"Julien, who is our friend?"
"A manufacturer of toys from Leipzig," Julien answered grimly.
"The toys that giants play with!" Kendricks muttered. "I have never forgotten a face in my life."
"Then forget this one for a moment," Julien advised him quickly. "This is not a night for memories. I have lived with the ghosts of them long enough."
Their party became larger. The little dancing girl came to drink wine with them and remained to listen to Herr Freudenberg. A friend of Mademoiselle Ixe—a tall, fair girl in a blue satin gown—detached herself from her friends and joined them. Herr Freudenberg, with his arm resting lightly around Mademoiselle Ixe's waist, talked joyously and incessantly. It was not until some one lifted the blind and discovered that the sun was shining that they spoke of a move. Then, as the vestiaire came hurrying up with their coats and wraps, Herr Freudenberg lifted his glass.
"One last toast!" he cried. "Dear Marguerite, my friends, all of you—to the sun which calls us to work, to the moon which calls us to pleasure, to the love that crowds our hearts!"