“Pray go on and attend to the liquors,” she said kindly.  “I am so nervous that I am afraid I shall break something.”

She took a seat which placed her on the left of the old Jew.  A little familiarity was only in keeping when two theatrical artists met.

“What is the matter with your daughter? she seems sad,” she remarked with apparent interest.

“That is natural enough when we are going away from France, it may be forever.”

“Going away from here?” inquired Madame Clemenceau.

“Yes; this evening, but we did not like to go without bidding you good-bye.  Now that we have seen you in good health, and thanked you for your hospitality, we can proceed on our mission without compunction.”

“A mission—­where?”

“I have succeeded in interesting capitalists in your husband’s inventions.  That is settled; and I have taken up again a holy undertaking which should hardly have been laid aside for a mere money matter.  But there is nothing more sacred, after all, than friendship, I owe to your husband more than I have thus far repaid,” and he bent a tender regard on his daughter, with its overflow upon Clemenceau one of gratitude.

“Are you going far?” asked Cesarine, keeping her eyes in play but little rewarded by her scrutiny of the sham Marseillais who devoured, like an old campaigner, never sure of the next meal, or of Rebecca who superintended the table in her stead with a serious unconcern.

“Around the world,” replied Daniels simply, “straight on to the East.”

“Goodness! it is folly to take a young lady with you.  Is it a scientific errand?  No, you said holy.  Religious?”

“Scientific of an exalted type.”

“Is science somewhat entertaining for young ladies?”

“Some think it so.”

“She might not.  Leave her with me.  We are comrades of art, you know,” smiling up cordially at Rebecca, as if they had been friends of childhood and had never parted any more than Venus’ coupled loves.

“Where?”

“In our house,” Cesarine replied, as though she were fully assured that the smiling man on the opposite side of the board would not obtain the property.  “I do not think we shall quit it.”

“If she likes,” answered Daniels, easily.

“Rebecca!” he gently called, “Madame invites you to stay with her during my journey.  M. Clemenceau is my dearest friend, and from the time of his wife consenting, do not constrain yourself into going if you would rather remain.”

“I thank you, madame,” replied the Jewess, “but I am going with my father, because we have never quitted one another, and I do not wish to leave him alone.”

“Dear child!” exclaimed Daniels embracing her before he let her return to the head of the table.  “She will not listen to any suggestion of marriage.  I know of a bright young gentleman who adores her—­an Israelite like us, in a promising position.  He will one day be a professor at the Natural History Museum.  But she would not hear of him.”