The speaker's gestures seemed to imply that his own hand, if need be, would have brought the event to pass.
As he rose to say adieu, Frowenfeld, without previous intention, laid a hand upon his visitor's arm.
"Is there no one who can make peace between you?"
The landlord shook his head.
"'Tis impossib'. We don' wand."
"I mean," insisted Frowenfeld, "Is there no man who can stand between you and those who wrong you, and effect a peaceful reparation?"
The landlord slowly moved away, neither he nor his tenant speaking, but each knowing that the one man in the minds of both, as a possible peacemaker, was Honoré Grandissime.
"Should the opportunity offer," continued Joseph, "may I speak a word for you myself?"
The quadroon paused a moment, smiled politely though bitterly, and departed repeating again:
"'Tis impossib'. We don' wand."