. He imagined himself saying, at some reception after a draft agreement had been signed on all the terms that Palan's side had at first violently opposed: 'I trust, M'sieur Palan, there are no hard feelings between us. For myself, and speaking also on behalf of Sir Malcolm Bingay, who is unfortunately confined to his bed by a severe attack of arthritis--I can assure you, etc. etc. . . .' It would sound good in his own perfect French.

Unfortunately nothing of all this seemed likely, except perhaps Sir Malcolm's arthritis, which did indeed get worse as the Conference proceeded.

Once, in the street outside the building in which the Conference was being held, a little girl of nine or ten presented Palan with a bunch of flowers. Palan picked up the child in his arms and kissed her. A few bystanders smiled. Charles, who had been a witness from a distance, turned away as shyly as if the incident had involved himself. Again he envied Palan.


* * * * *


How refreshing, amidst these encounters and experiences, to think of Gerald's arrival and the birthday dinner. As soon as he had received the answering wire Charles went to the Cheval Noir, a small restaurant near the Champs Elysées, which was a favourite of his--not one of those famous institutions like Prunier's or Voisin's, meccas for tourists, but the sort of place he would have been disappointed to hear spoken of by any Englishman or American, and that he himself was careful never to recommend. At the Cheval Noir he talked to Henri. Of course the dinner was not to be planned in detail--it was part of Charles's anticipated pleasure that he would discuss such important matters with Gerald and (using all the tact of which he was capable) let the boy seem to be making his own decisions. But there could be no harm in considering possibilities. Only a simple dinner--soup, fish, then flesh or fowl of the kind that Henri knew how to cook as well as any man in Europe. No cocktails beforehand, but perhaps a glass of Vino de Pasto--no champagne (unless Gerald seemed disappointed by its absence), but a Chablis and then one of those honest Burgundies-- say a Chambertin. . . . And crępes Suzette to follow, as a sporting concession to a youthful palate--Charles himself was not fond of them (just dressed-up pancakes, after all), but they did offer a spectacle in the festive mood. Then brandy--just a plain good one--and finally, if Gerald wanted to take a small chance or to show off, a very mild and thin cigar, even if he put it down after a few whiffs. . . . And during all this they would be talking, their minds released by the warmth and the wine and by the emerging phenomenon of their mutual discovery; they would talk till near midnight--father and son, aware of a new relationship . . . they would gossip, exchange adult confidences, perhaps even a few slightly risqué stories. .