“If I had a father like yours!” said Suzanne in menacing, humorous sing-song, eyes bulging and head nodding. At this vista of perpetual blackmail she fell into a reverie.
“Never get your father off on your fiancée, Suzanne!” Kreisler advised in reply.
“Comment?” Suzanne did not understand, and pulled a sour face.
“I had a fiancée.”
“Oui. Très bien. Tu t’es brouillé avec elle?”
“I have quarrelled with her; yes. She married my father. Or I married her, I may say, to my father. That was a mistake.”
“I believe you! That, as you say, was careless! You don’t get on well with her?”
“I never see her.”
“You never go home?”
Kreisler was too proud to reply to Suzanne very often. He marched on, staring severely ahead.