That was all the reply he made.
He was so cocksure and so satisfied with the general flabbiness of the French that suddenly it occurred to Christophe that Kohn was a thousand times more of a foreigner in France than himself: and there was a catch at his heart.
"It is impossible," he said once more, as he had said that evening when he had left the theater on the boulevards in disgust. "There must be something else."
"What more do you want?" asked Sylvain Kohn.
"France."
"We are France," said Sylvain Kohn, gurgling with laughter.
Christophe stared hard at him for a moment, then shook his head, and said once more:
"There must be something else."
"Well, old man, you'd better look for it," said Sylvain Kohn, laughing louder than ever.
Christophe had to look for it. It was well hidden.