“He has that honor.”
“And his name?”—Madame wanted to make a memorandum of that name.
Houdon struck another chord. It was as if he were sounding a fanfare for the entrance of his hero.
“Charles Cartaret.” He pronounced the first name in the French fashion and the second name “Cartarette.”
Seraphin’s reply to this announcement rather spoiled its effect. He laughed, and his laughter was high and mocking.
“Cartaret!” he cried. “Charlie Cartaret! But I know him well.”
“Eh?”—The composer was reproachful—“And you never presented him to me?”
“It never happened that you were by.”
“My faith! Why should I be? Am I not Houdon? You should have brought him to me. Is it that you at the same time consider yourself my friend and do not bring to me your millionaire?”
Seraphin’s laughter waxed.