CHAPTER V.
GAILLARD THE COMFORTER.
Then he went home, and bathed and dressed and said “The club” when his mother, in peignoir and morning paint, asked him where he had spent his night with that good, dear Marquis de Nani. Later in the day he wandered into Struve’s rooms.
“Go away, Toto,” said Struve, who was busy writing at his table. He supplied seven journals with his ideas, from the Fremdenblatt to the Figaro, and he seemed now engaged in writing for the whole seven at once. One could see nothing of the lisping, melancholy Struve of the night before in this lightning scribe. “Go away. I have no time for Totos. Come in three hours’ time.”
“What are you at?” inquired Toto, sinking into a chair and lighting a cigarette.
“Praising a man I hate.”
“See here: stop writing your gibberish for five minutes; I want to speak to you.”
Struve took out his watch and laid it on the table.
“I am listening.”