And Fitzgerald was drawn toward this comparative stranger, who was not ashamed to speak from his heart.

They drifted into a long conversation, and fought a dozen battles, compared this general and that, and built idle fancies upon what the outcome would have been had Napoleon won at Waterloo.

This might have gone on indefinitely had not the patient attendant finally dandled his keys and yawned over his watch.

It was four o'clock, and they had been talking for a full hour.

They exchanged cards, and Fitzgerald, with his usual disregard of convention, invited Breitmann to dine with him that evening at the Meurice.
He selected a table by the window, dining at seven-thirty.