"You've accepted it?" "What else could I do?" I answered sharply. "I can't starve." Starve! The word sounded oddly among all the Gobelins, Boule furniture and Sèvres. Ribeyre rose. I had an intuition that I was saved. "You needn't go to Berthomieu's, old chap. You'll do for yourself at that game. I know you, and I'm positive you're not made for the University. What you want is this." With a sweep of his hand he indicated the pageant of power about us. What a psychologist Ribeyre was! "Listen," he said, perching himself on the arm of my chair. "Have you any objection to leaving the country for a bit? I say for a bit, because it is only in Paris that the game is really played and won. At present you haven't a sou. This is the sort of place where a fellow like you with enough to live on for a year and no material preoccupations could have the future at his feet." "Well?" said I, breathless. He went on, relishing the pleasure of appearing such a great man. "All right, then. You will do me a good turn in exchange for mine. I lunched this morning with Marçais at the German Embassy. Do you know Marçais? He is our Minister at Lautenburg. Have you heard of Lautenburg?" "It is one of the German States." "It is the Grand Duchy of Lautenburg-Detmold. Reigning Sovereign, His Highness Frederick-Augustus," he said magisterially. "His Highness is afflicted with an heir of about fifteen, for whom he is seeking a tutor. You know that French is a sine qua non in every Court. Have you got your licence?" "Yes." "Good. Do you know German?" "Fairly well; enough for the Sorbonne." "Doesn't matter. They all talk French over there. Well, the Grand Duke instructed Marçais, when he left for Paris, to find him a tutor. Marçais is a charming fellow, a man of real distinction!... Charvet makes him his exclusive ties. Afterwards he destroys the model. But this is no reproach. He's not much good at getting out of a hole. Yesterday he casually told me of his mission. He is going to the Ministry of
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