“Good,” said Fortinbras, when Martin had finished. “Very good. And what had my excellent brother-in-law to say to it?” “Your excellent brother-in-law,” replied Martin, with a smile, “seems to be a very delicate-minded gentleman.” Fortinbras did not press the subject. Waiting for Corinna, they talked of casual things. Martin, now a creature of health and appetite, devoured innumerable rolls and absorbed many bowls of coffee, to the outspoken admiration of Fortinbras. But still Corinna did not come. Then Martin filled a pipe of caporal and, smoking it with gusto, told Fortinbras more of what he had learned at the Café de l’Univers. He expressed his wonder at the people’s lack of enthusiasm for their political leaders. “The adventurer politician is the curse of this country,” said Fortinbras. “He insinuates himself into every government. He is out for plunder and his hand is at the throat of patriotic ministers, and he strangles France, while into his pockets through devious channels filters a fine stream of German gold.” “I can’t believe it,” cried Martin. “Oh! He isn’t a traitor in the sense of being suborned by a foreign Power. He is far too subtle. But he knows what policy will affect the world’s exchanges to his profit; and that policy he advocates.” “A gangrene in the body politic,” said Martin. Fortinbras nodded assent. “It will only be the sword of war that will cut it out.” On this, in marched Corinna dressed for travel, with a little embroidered bag slung over her arm. She crossed the room, her head up, her chin in the air, defiant as usual, and shook hands with Fortinbras. “I’ve come as you asked,” she said. “But let us be quick with the talking, as I’ve got to catch a train.” “Sit down,” said Fortinbras, setting a chair for her. She obeyed and there the three of them were sitting once more round a table in an empty dining room. But this time it was a cloudy morning in early November, in the heart of France, the distant mountains across the town half-veiled in mist, and a fine rain falling. Gusts of raw air came in through the open terrace window at the end of the room. “So, my dear Corinna,” said Fortinbras, “you have not waited for the second consultation which was part of our programme.” “That’s your fault, not mine,” said Corinna. “I expected you weeks ago.” “Doubtless. But your expectation was no reason for my coming weeks ago. My undertaking, however, was a reason for your continuing to expect me and being certain that sooner or later I should come.” “All right,” said Corinna. “This is mere talk. What do you want with me?” “To ask you, my dear Corinna,” replied Fortinbras, in his persuasive tones, “why you have disregarded my advice?” “And what was your advice?” “To do nothing headstrong, violent and lunatic until we met again.”