"This is a city of conspirators," he declared. "You make a man vain and happy and joyous at the same time. Let your dinner be served, then, Henri. Since I was in Paris last I have eaten many times, but I have not dined."
The maître d'hôtel departed, but for the next hour or so his eyes were seldom far away from the table where sat his most esteemed client. Once or twice, others of the diners sent for him.
"Henri," one asked, and then another, "tell us, who is it that dines like a prince under the canopy of pink roses?"
Henri smiled.
"Monsieur," he replied, "it is Herr Carl Freudenberg of Leipzig."
"Herr Carl Freudenberg of Leipzig—but who is he?"
"He is a great manufacturer of toys, monsieur."
"A German!" one muttered.
"It is they who are spoiling Paris," another grumbled.
"They have at least the money!"