In spite of his intimacy with the sturdy thought of provincial France, Martin could not realise how the vague imminence of war could affect so closely the personal life of an individual Frenchman. “No matter,” said Bigourdin, after a short discussion. “I have to die some day. It was not to argue about the probable date of my decease that I have asked you to honour me with this special conversation. I have expressed to you quite frankly the motives which actuate me at the present moment. I have done so in order that you may understand why I desire to make you a business proposition.” “A business proposition?” echoed Martin. “_Oui, mon ami._” He replenished Martin’s enormous beaker and his own and gave the toast. “_A l’Entente Cordiale_—between our nations and between our two selves.” Lest the uninitiated may regard this sitting as a dram drinking orgy, it must be borne in mind that in such brandy as that of the Brigadier, strength has melted into the gracious mellowness of old age. The fiery spirit that the _cantinière_ or the _vivandière_ of 1812 served out of her little waist-slung barrel to the warriors of the _Grande Armée_, was now but a fragrant memory of battles long ago. “A business proposition,” repeated Bigourdin, and forthwith began to develop it. It was the very simplest business proposition in the world. Why should not Martin invest all or part of his little heritage in the century-old and indubitably flourishing business of the Hôtel des Grottes, and become a partner with Bigourdin? Lawyers would arrange the business details. In this way, whether Bigourdin met with a gory death within the next two or three years or a peaceful one a quarter of a century hence, he would be reassured that there would be no solution of continuity in the honourable tradition of the Hôtel des Grottes. It was then that Martin fully understood the solemnity of the occasion—the _petit salon_ with fire specially lit, the Brigadier brandy, the preparatory revelation of the soul-state of Bigourdin. The unexpectedness of the suggestion, however, dazed him. He said politely: “My dear friend, your proposal that I should associate myself with you in this business is a personal compliment, which I shall never cease to appreciate. But——” “But what?” “I must think over it.” “Naturally,” said Bigourdin. “One would be a linnet or a butterfly instead of a man if one took a step like that without thinking. But at least the idea is not disagreeable to you.” “Of course not,” replied Martin. “The only question is how should I get the money?” “Your little heritage, _parbleu_.” “But that is in Consols—_rentes anglaises_, and I only get my dividends twice a year.” “You could sell out to-morrow or the next day and get the whole in bank notes or golden sovereigns.”