"Well, if you remain so long, we can go to Odessa together. Why should you not accompany me, eh?"
"Why, you see—"
"Nonsense: you will come, won't you?"
"I rather counted upon resting after such a long and fatiguing journey."
"Very well, you shall rest here. Then you can repose at Odessa afterwards for three weeks."
"Kéraban, my friend—" began the Dutchman.
"I won't listen to you, Van Mitten. You are not going to annoy me at our very first meeting, I suppose? You know I am right, and am not easily put off."
"Yes, I know," said Van Mitten; "yet—"
"Besides," continued his friend, "you do not know my nephew Ahmet, and you really must become acquainted with him."
"You have already spoken of your nephew to me—"
"Say rather, my son: but I have no child. Business, you know; all business. I never have had five minutes to spare to get married in."
"One minute is enough," replied Van Mitten seriously; "and very often one minute is too long."
"You will meet Ahmet at Odessa," said Kéraban. "A charming fellow. He detests business, for instance; he is somewhat of an artist, and trifles with the Muses; but charming, charming! He resembles his uncle in nothing, and obeys him without argument."
"Friend Kéraban—"
"Yes, yes; I understand: it is for his wedding that we are going to Odessa."
"His wedding!"
"Certainly. Ahmet is going to marry a lovely girl, Amasia, daughter of my banker Selim—a true Turk—like myself. We shall have a regular fête; it will be splendid. You will be there."
"But I should prefer—if—"
"It is all arranged," interrupted the inflexible Kéraban, cutting short Van Mitten's last feeble protest. "You can never have the face to resist me."
"I should like to—"
