"And yonder, in the corner, sits Mademoiselle Ixe," Kendricks whispered to Julien. "For whom does she wait, I wonder?".
"For Herr Freudenberg?" suggested Julien.
"For Herr Freudenberg, let us pray," Kendricks replied.
The husband of madame, the father of mademoiselle, the rightly conceived future papa-in-law-to-be of the attendant young man, rose to his feet in response to a kick from his wife.
"If monsieur is looking for a table," he suggested, "there is room here adjoining ours. It will incommode us not in the slightest."
"Of all places in the room," Kendricks declared, with a bow, "the most desirable, the most charming. Madame indeed permits—and mademoiselle?"
There were more bows, more pleasant speeches. A small additional table was quickly brought. Kendricks ignored the more comfortable seat by Julien's side and took a chair with his back to the room. From here he leaned over and conversed with his new friends. He started flirting with mademoiselle, he paid compliments to madame, he suddenly plunged into politics with monsieur. Julien listened, half in amusement, half in admiration. For Kendricks was not talking idly.
"A man of affairs, monsieur," Kendricks proclaimed himself to be. "My interest in both countries, madame," he continued, knowing well that she, too, loved to talk of the affairs, "is great. I am one of those, indeed, who have benefited largely by this delightful alliance."
Alliance! Monsieur smiled at the word. Kendricks protested.
"But what else shall we call it, dear friends?" he argued. "Are we not allied against a common foe? The exact terms of the entente, what does it matter? Is it credible that England would remain idle while the legions of Germany overran this country?"