Estermen drew a little sigh of relief. "I shall await you, Sir
Julien," he declared.
All Paris seemed to be seeking distraction as they drove in the automobile along the Boulevard des Italiens. Julien sat with folded arms in the corner of the automobile. He had no fancy for his companion. He was anxious so far as possible to avoid speech with him. Estermen, on the contrary, seemed only too desirous of removing the impression of dislike of which he was acutely conscious. He talked the whole of the time of the cafés and the women, of everything he thought might be interesting to his companion. Julien listened in grim silence. Only once he interrupted.
"What brings Herr Freudenberg to Paris?" he inquired once more.
Estermen was suddenly reticent.
"He has affairs here," he said. "He is also like us others—a man who loves his pleasure. You will find him tonight with a most charming companion—Mademoiselle Ixe of the Opera. Before the coming of Herr Freudenberg, I remember her well—the companion at times of many. To-day she is changed, triste when he is not here, faithful in a most un-Parisianlike manner."
They swung round to the left.
"Herr Freudenberg," Estermen continued, "is a great lover of the night life of Paris. He goes from one café to the other. He is untired, sleepless. He seems to find inspiration where others find fatigue."
Julien raised his eyebrows, but he said nothing. These were not his impressions of the man whom they were seeking!
They drew up presently at the doors of the Abbaye Thelème. There were crowds of people trying to gain admission. Estermen elbowed his way through.
"Herr Freudenberg?" he asked of the man who stood at the door.