IV
Nephew and uncle stepped out into the twilight; and it seemed to Lanny the most delightful moment he had spent in Paris. Very certainly the Île de la Cité with its bridges and its great cathedral had never appeared more beautiful than in the summer twilight. Flags were out, and the holiday atmosphere prevailed. To everybody else it was because of the signing of the treaty, but there was nothing to prevent Lanny Budd's applying it to his emergence from the Préfecture.
The moment was made perfect when a taxi came whirling up the Boulevard du Palais, and there was Robbie Budd peering forth. “Well, what the devil is this?” he cried.
“You got my note?” inquired Jesse, as Robbie jumped out. “That — and your telegram.”
“I wanted to be sure of reaching you. I was afraid they might hold me, too.”
“But what is it all about?”
“Get back into the cab,” said Uncle Jesse. “We can't talk about it here.”
The two got in, and Lanny handed in the suitcase, and followed it. When the Préfecture was behind them, the painter said: “Now, Robbie, I'll tell you the story I just told the commissaire. You remember how, several months back, Professor Alston sent Lanny to me to arrange for a conference between Colonel House and some of the Russian agents in Paris?”
“I was told about it,” said Robbie, with no cordiality in his tone. “Don't forget that it was United States government business. Lanny did it because it was his job, and I did it because his chief urged me to. I have made it a matter of honor never to force myself upon your son. I have done that out of regard for my sister. Lanny will tell you that it is so.”
“It really is, Robbie,” put in the youth. “Go on,” said Robbie, between his clenched teeth. “Well, this morning a French labor leader came to me. You know the blockade of Germany is still going on, the war on the Soviet government is still going on — and both are products of French government policy.”