“I couldn’t help it,” said he, coming forward. “When you turn the Petit Cornichon into the stage of the Odéon, what can I do but give you the reply? I came here to find our good friend Widdrington.”
“Widdrington went back to England this morning,” she announced.
“That’s a pity. I had good news for him. I have arranged his little affair. He should be here to profit by it. I love impulsiveness in youth,” he said addressing himself to Martin, “when it proceeds from noble ardour; but when it marks the feather-headed irresponsibility of the idiot, I cannot deprecate it too strongly.”
Challenged, as it were, for a response, “I cordially agree with you, sir,” said Martin.
“You two ought to know one another,” said Corinna. “This is my friend, Mr. Overshaw—Martin, let me introduce you to Mr. Daniel Fortinbras, Marchand de Bonheur.”
Fortinbras extended a soft white hand and holding Martin’s benevolently:
“Which being translated into our rougher speech,” said he, “means Dealer in Happiness.”
“I wish you would provide me with some,” said Martin, laughingly.
“And so do I,” said Corinna.
Fortinbras drew a chair to the table and sat down.