"Is it the greatest ambition of monsieur," the girl asked, "to amuse and make happy the world of children? Have not the world of grown people some claims?"
"Monsieur will, I trust, and madame," Henri declared, as they moved slowly forward, "find much to admire in the table which has been prepared for them this evening. It is by the orders of monsieur so enclosed that here one may talk without fear of observation. And the perfume of these roses, every one of which has been selected, is a wonderful thing. It is indeed a work of art."
Herr Freudenberg turned deliberately on one side where the little flower girl was still lingering.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "something tells me that it is you whom we have to thank for this adorable creation. It is indeed a work of supreme art. If mademoiselle would permit!"
He slipped a crumpled note into her fingers, so quietly and unostentatiously that it was there and in her pocket before any one had time to notice it. She went out murmuring to herself.
"He is a prince, this monsieur—a veritable prince!"
"For your dinner," Henri announced, as they seated themselves in their places, "I have no word to tell you. I spare you, as you see, the barbarity of a menu. What will come to you, monsieur and madame, is at least of our best. I can promise that. And the wine is such as I myself have selected, knowing well the taste of monsieur."
"And of madame also, I trust?" Herr Freudenberg remarked.
"Ah! monsieur," Henri continued, "when monsieur is not in Paris, madame is invisible. Not once since I last had this pleasure of waiting upon you, have I had the joy of seeing her."
Herr Freudenberg looked across the table at his companion with twinkling eyes.