"Well, monsieur, you must surely understand that until I have seen you act I cannot be of any service to you?"
"I could rehearse on approval," he pleaded.
"Moreover," I added hastily, "all my arrangements are made for some time to come. Later on, when an opportunity arises, we shall see what we shall see." I halted. "Write to me during the run of Omphale. I shall not forget our little chat. A propos, I am starting to-morrow for Crete; I see the papers are reporting that I am already there, so you need not mention that you have met me—it is never policy to contradict the Press. Yes, I shall bear your name in mind, I assure you."
He did not look assured, however; he stood silent, and his lips were trembling. Heaven knows what solid help my amiability had led him to expect, but it was plain that honeyed phrases were a meagre substitute.
"You have been most courteous to me," he stammered, "you have done me a great honour—as long as I live I shall remember that I have talked with monsieur Panage; but you are leaving what you found, monsieur—a desperate man!"
"Bah! who knows when an opening may occur?" I said, a shade embarrassed. "I may see a chance for you sooner than you think. When I want you I shall send for you."
I little dreamt in what strange circumstances I was to send for him.
Beauregard was snoring on the sofa when I burst into the room.
"Well, you can bestir yourself and pack!" I volleyed. "The place is too hot to hold us; we have to get out!"
"Hein?"