enjoyed his smile at me. "Who sings the marriage song?" he asked.
"Heavens, man, I don't know! I'm not the manager. What is it to me who sings the song?"
"You would like it sung in tune?"
"Oh, unquestionably."
"Ah, well, she sings in tune," he said, nodding his head with an air of satisfaction. "She is not emotional, but she sings in tune."
"Does she, Wetter? Who is she?"
He stood looking at me for a moment, then broke into another laugh. I caught him by the arm; now I laughed myself.
"No, no?" I cried. "Fate doesn't joke, Wetter?"
"Fate jokes," said he. "It is Coralie who will sing your song. To-morrow they reach here, she and Struboff. Yes, sire, Coralie is to sing your song."
We stood looking at one another; we both were laughing. "It's a great chance in her career," he said.
"It's rather a curious chance in mine," said I.
"She sings it, she sings it," he cried, and with a last laugh turned and fairly ran away down the street, like a mischievous boy who has thrown his squib and flies from the scene in mirthful fear.
When Fortune jested she found in him quick-witted loving audience.
