“A business proposition?” echoed Martin.
“Oui, mon ami.”
He replenished Martin’s enormous beaker and his own and gave the toast.
“A l’Entente Cordiale—between our nations and between our two selves.”
Lest the uninitiated may regard this sitting as a dram drinking orgy, it must be borne in mind that in such brandy as that of the Brigadier, strength has melted into the gracious mellowness of old age. The fiery spirit that the cantinière or the vivandière of 1812 served out of her little waist-slung barrel to the warriors of the Grande Armée, was now but a fragrant memory of battles long ago.
“A business proposition,” repeated Bigourdin, and forthwith began to develop it. It was the very simplest business proposition in the world. Why should not Martin invest all or part of his little heritage in the century-old and indubitably flourishing business of the Hôtel des Grottes, and become a partner with Bigourdin? Lawyers would arrange the business details. In this way, whether Bigourdin met with a gory death within the next two or three years or a peaceful one a quarter of a century hence, he would be reassured that there would be no solution of continuity in the honourable tradition of the Hôtel des Grottes.
It was then that Martin fully understood the solemnity of the occasion—the petit salon with fire specially lit, the Brigadier brandy, the preparatory revelation of the soul-state of Bigourdin. The unexpectedness of the suggestion, however, dazed him. He said politely:
“My dear friend, your proposal that I should associate myself with you in this business is a personal compliment, which I shall never cease to appreciate. But——”
“But what?”
“I must think over it.”