Monsieur was becoming interested. So was madame. It was madame who spoke—one gathered that it was usual!
"What, then," she demanded, "would England do?"
"She would come to the aid of your charming country, madame."
"But how?" madame persisted pertinently.
Kendricks was immediately fluent. He talked in ornate phrases of the resources of the British Empire, the perfection of her fleet, the wonder of her new guns. Julien, who knew him well, was amazed not only at his apparent earnestness, but at his insincerity. He was speaking well and with a wealth of detail which was impressive enough. His little company of new friends were listening to him with marked attention; Julien alone seemed conscious that they were listening to a man who was speaking against his own convictions.
"Monsieur! Monsieur Julien!"
It was the voice of Mademoiselle Ixe. She was leaning slightly forward in her place. Julien turned quickly around and she motioned him to a seat by her side. He rose at once and accepted her invitation.
"I do not disturb you?" she asked. "It seemed to me that your friend was talking with those strange people there and that you were not very much interested. It is dull when one sits here alone."
"Naturally," Julien agreed. "My friend talks politics, and for my part it is very certain that I would sooner talk of other things with mademoiselle."
She was a born flirt—a matter of nationality as well as temperament, and not to be escaped—and her eyes flashed the correct reply. But a moment later she was gazing wistfully at the door.