More conversation. Evidently more difficulties—but with Henri now holding the center of the stage and speaking rapidly. The heavy-set man retired and read letters under an electric lamp. The band upstairs was having dinner. And Henri argued and wrangled. He was quite passionate. The man in the military cape listened and smiled. And at last he nodded.
Henri turned to Sara Lee.
"You Americans are all brave," he said. "You like—what is it you say?—taking a chance, I think. Would you care to take such a chance?"
"What sort of a chance?"
"May I visit you this evening at your hotel?"
Just for an instant Sara Lee hesitated. There was Harvey at home. He would not like her receiving a call from any man. And Harvey did not like foreigners. He always said they had no respect for women. It struck her suddenly what Harvey would call Henri's bowing and his kissing her hand, and his passionate gesticulations when he was excited. He would call it all tomfool nonsense.
And she recalled his final words, his arms so close about her that she could hardly breathe, his voice husky with emotion.
"Just let me hear of any of those foreigners bothering you," he said, "and I'll go over and wipe out the whole damned nation."
It had not sounded funny then. It was not funny now.
"Please come," said Sara Lee in a small voice.