While the count played an accompaniment for a duet by the twins, the solid men were talking in the further parlor, hidden from the piano by one of the folding-doors. The principal one, after Kendrick, was Mr. Burnham, one of the bank directors—a bald, clean-shaven, oldish gentleman, whose whole air suggested stocks, bonds, investments, and high rates of interest. He sat in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, for lounging or ease was something he had never cultivated. Like Kendrick, making money was the only interest he had in life; not so much from any miserly feeling perhaps, as from long habit of thinking and scheming in that one narrow field. As many women grow by habit into household drudges, until they come to feel uneasy in pretty dresses and momentary release from the housekeeping treadmill, so these men felt uneasy, and almost out of place any where but in the counting-room. After a while the solid Burnham said: “I don’t see, Kendrick, that we are to get a chance at the count to-night.” “Upon my word,” said another, “he is as fond of woman’s talk as a sophomore.” “A wise fool, eh?” said Kendrick. “Yes, these foreigners are funny dogs; but Frauenstein has a remarkably clear head, financially, though he’s all wrong in politics—believes in female suffrage, for example. All the women like him, that’s certain.” “H’m! Not difficult to find a man agreeable who is a count and a millionaire. Singular there should be so much attraction in a title in this democratic country.” “Frauenstein maintains that we are not a democratic country,” said Kendrick; “that there never has been a democratic government in the world’s history, because never one where all citizens have the ballot.” “Haven’t they in this country? I should like to know,” said Mr. Burnham. “Why, women have not, and they constitute more than half of the adult citizens. I tell you, Burnham, you can’t argue that question with the count. He’s armed at all points.” “I’ve no desire to; but I don’t feel like waiting much longer for him to get through his opera squalling and dawdling with the women.” Now it was a part of Kendrick’s plan to broach the insurance scheme, not in a set business way, but to spring it suddenly upon the count in a general conversation when the ladies were present. He knew that many men, ladies’ men especially, would be more vulnerable under such circumstances—less apt to manifest any closeness where money was concerned. The opportunity was soon found. With the collation, or after it, coffee was brought in—a thing never dreamed of at night, except when the count was present; then, indeed, it was available at almost any hour, for he was, like most Europeans, very fond of it. The solid men joined the group of three or four around a table, where the count was sipping his _café noir_.