"No," he said. "Of course, I can't … I can't talk about that … not here…."
Christophe took his hand with a grin. He felt the stranger's thin fingers tremble in his great paw and press it with an involuntary tenderness: and the young man felt Christophe's paw affectionately crush his hand. They ceased to hear the chatter of the people round them. They were alone together and they knew that they were friends.
It was only for a second, for then Madame Roussin touched Christophe on the arm with her fan and said:
"I see that you have introduced yourselves and don't need me to do so. The boy came on purpose to meet you this evening."
Then, rather awkwardly, they parted.
Christophe asked Madame Roussin:
"Who is he?"
"What?" said she. "You don't know him? He is a young poet and writes very prettily. One of your admirers. He is a good musician and plays the piano quite nicely. It is no good discussing you in his presence: he is mad about you. The other day he all but came to blows about you with Lucien Lévy-Coeur."
"Oh! Bless him for that!" said Christophe.
"Yes, I know you are unjust to poor Lucien. And yet he too loves your work."