The Mischief Maker by Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

* * * * *

That same night, wandering around Paris, Kendricks met Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle.

"It is the gallant Englishman!" mademoiselle exclaimed.

"It is the gentleman who ate both portions of chicken!" madame cried, clapping her hands.

It was a veritable meeting. Kendricks willingly joined their little party and sat down with them in the brightly-lit cafe. Monsieur ordered wine.

"The business affairs of monsieur are prospering, I trust?" he said. "After all, the _entente_ remains."

Kendricks lifted his glass.

"I drink to it!" he exclaimed. "It is the sanest thing to-day in European politics. Drink to it yourself, monsieur, and you, madame, and you, mademoiselle. You shall accuse us no longer, we English, of selfishness or stupidity. For what reason, think you, did we order a warship to Agdar and brave the whole wrath of Germany?"

Monsieur held out his hand.

"My friend," he declared, "it was a stroke of genius, that. It was what we none of us expected from any English Minister. It was magnificent. I confess it--it has altered my opinions. I drink with you now, cordially and heartily. I drink to the _entente_. I believe in it. I am a convert."

Kendricks shook hands with every one solemnly. He shook hands last with mademoiselle, and forgot to release her little fingers for several moments.

"Tell us of your friend, monsieur?" madame asked politely.

But Kendricks did not hear! He was whispering in mademoiselle's ear. Her dark eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth, her pretty lips were parted, a most becoming flush of color was in her cheeks. Monsieur looked at madame and winked. Madame smiled, well pleased.

"_L'entente!_" monsieur murmured.

Madame nodded.