"My dear boy, my dear boy, how are you? And so this is your little wife! My dear child, I wish you joy with all my heart!"
His arms, thrown wide, embraced first Lot and then Elly.
"And I've taken a room for you at the Métropole, but I reckoned on it that you'd first come and have supper at my place. Then I shall have been at your wedding too. I don't expect you're tired, are you? No, it's nothing of a journey. Better send your trunks straight to the hotel. I've got a carriage: shall we go home at once? Do you think there's room for the three of us? Yes, yes, we'll fit in nicely."
It was the second time that Elly had seen the old gentleman, a pink-and-white, well-preserved man of seventy: she had been with Lot to look him up during their engagement. There was something decided and authoritative about him, together with a cheerful gaiety, especially now, because he was seeing Lot again. He would receive them at his own place, at his rooms, for he lived in bachelor quarters. He opened the door with his latch-key; he had paid the cabman quickly, before Lot could; and he now hustled the young couple up the stairs. He himself lit a gas-jet in the passage:
"I have no one to wait on me in the evening, as you see. A femme-de-ménage comes in the morning. I take my meals at a restaurant. I thought of treating the two of you to supper at a restaurant; but I think this is pleasanter.... There!"
And he now lit the gas in the sitting-room, with a quick movement, like a young man's. Elly smiled at him. The table was laid and there were flowers on it and a few pints of Heidsieck in a wine-cooler.
"Welcome, my dear child!" said the old man, kissing Elly.
He helped her take off her hat and cloak and carried them into his bedroom:
"You'd better bring your coat in here too, Lot."
"Your father is wonderful!" said Elly.