He came forward, holding out his hand, and I thought of Madame's words.

Were we to become friends?
"Monsieur Howard," he said, "I have to apologise.

Mon Dieu!--to think that you have been in Paris three months, and I have never called to place myself at your disposition! And a friend of Alfred Gayerson, of that good, stout John Turner--of half a dozen hardy English friends of mine." I was about to explain that his oversight had a good excuse in the fact that my existence must have been unknown to him, but he silenced me with his two outstretched hands, waving a violent negation.
"No--no!" he said, smiting himself grievously on the chest.

"I have no excuse.

You say that I was ignorant of your existence--then it was my business to find it out.