When he came back to his place, his expression had lightened.
"Ah, well! dear Monsieur Douaille," he exclaimed, patting the other's shoulder in friendly fashion, "to-night we merely chatter.

To-night we are here to make friends, to gain each the confidence of the other.

To ourselves let us pretend that we are little boys, playing the game of our nation--France, Germany, and Russia.

Germany and Russia, to be frank with you, are waiting for one last word from Germany's father, something splendid and definite to offer.

What we would like France to do, while France loses its money at roulette and flirts with the pretty ladies at Ciro's, is to try and accustom itself not to an alliance with Germany--no! Nothing so utopian as that.