“Yes, there are.”
“Nihla Quellen is one.”
“My friend, I desire to believe it if it would be agreeable to you.”
“I know, Renoux; I believe in your good-will. Also, I believe in your honesty and intelligence. And so I do not ask you to accept my word for what I tell you. Only remember that I am absolutely certain concerning my belief in Nihla Quellen.... I have no doubt that you think I am in love with her.... I can’t answer you. All Europe was in love with her. Perhaps I am.... I don’t know, Renoux. But this I do know; she is clean and sweet and honest from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot. In her heart there has never dwelt treachery. Talk to her to-night. You’re like the best of your compatriots, clear minded, logical, intelligent, and full of that legitimate imagination without which intellect is a machine. You know the world; you know men; you don’t know women and you know you don’t. Therefore, you are equipped to learn the truth—to divine it—from Nihla Quellen. Will you come over to my place now?”
“Yes,” said Renoux pleasantly.
The orchestra was playing as they passed through the hotel; supper rooms, corridors, café and lobby were crowded with post-theatre throngs in search of food 284 and drink and dance music; and although few theatres were open in July, Long Acre blazed under its myriad lights and the sidewalks were packed with the audiences filtering out of the various summer shows and into all-night cabarets.
They looked across at the distant war bulletins displayed on Times Square, around which the usual gesticulating crowd had gathered, but kept on across Long Acre, and west toward Sixth Avenue.
Midway in the block, Renoux touched his comrade silently on the arm, and halted.
“A few minutes, mon ami, if you don’t mind—time for you to smoke a cigarette while waiting.”