twelvemonth hence the operation will be reversed. The pendulum will swing back again. I shall be sitting in the gondola or on a dromedary, and all of a sudden I shall want to clear out. But for the present I am perfectly free. I have even bargained that I am to receive no business letters.”
“Oh, it’s a real
caprice de prince
,” 19 said Tristram. “I back out; a poor devil like me can’t help you to spend such very magnificent leisure as that. You should get introduced to the crowned heads.”
Newman looked at him a moment, and then, with his easy smile: “How does one do it?” he asked.
“Come, I like that!” cried Tristram. “It shows you are in earnest.”
“Of course I am in earnest. Didn’t I say I wanted the best? I know the best can’t be had for mere money, but I rather think money will do a good deal. In addition, I am willing to take a good deal of trouble.”
“You are not bashful, eh?”
“I haven’t the least idea. I want the biggest kind of entertainment a man can get. People, places, art, nature, everything! I want to see the tallest mountains, and the bluest lakes, and the finest pictures, and the handsomest churches, and the most celebrated men, and the most beautiful women.”
“Settle down in Paris, then. There are no mountains that I know of, and the only lake is in the Bois de Boulogne, 20 and not particularly blue. But there is everything else: plenty of pictures and churches, no end of celebrated men, and several beautiful women.”
“But I can’t settle down in Paris at this season, just as summer is coming on.”
“Oh, for the summer go up to Trouville.” 21
“What is Trouville?”
“The French Newport. 22 Half the Americans go.”
“Is it anywhere near the Alps?”
“About as near as Newport is to the Rocky Mountains.”
“Oh, I want to see Mont Blanc,” said Newman, “and Amsterdam, and the Rhine, and a lot of places. Venice in particular. I have great ideas about Venice.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Tristram, rising. “I see I shall have to introduce you to my wife!”
Chapter III.
H e performed this ceremony on the following day, when, by appointment, Christopher Newman went to dine with him Mr. and Mrs. Tristram lived behind one of those chalk-coloured façades which dec orate with their pompous sameness the broad avenues manufactured by Baron Haussmann 1 in the neighbourhood of the Arc de Triomphe Their apartment was rich in the modern conveniences, and Tristram lost no time in calling his visitor’s attention to their principal household treasures, the gas-lamps and the furnace-holes “Whenever you feel homesick,” he said, “you must come up here. We’ll stick you down before a register, under a good big burner, and—–”
“And you will soon get over your homesickness,” said Mrs. Tristram.
Her husband stared; his wife often had a tone which he found inscrutable; he could not tell for his life whether she was in jest or in earnest. The truth is that circumstances had done much to cultivate in Mrs. Tristram a marked tendency to irony. Her taste on many points differed from that of her husband; and though she made frequent concessions, it must be confessed that her concessions were not always graceful. They were founded upon a vague project she had of some day doing something very positive, something a trifle passionate. Whatshe meant to do she could by no means have told you; but meanwhile, nevertheless, she was buying a good conscience, by instalments.
It should be added, without delay, to anticipate misconception, that her little scheme of independence did not definitely involve the assistance of another person, of the opposite sex; she was not saving up virtue to cover the expenses of a flirtation. For this there were various reasons. To begin with, she had a very plain face, and she was entirely without illusions as to her appearance. She had taken its measure to a hair’s breadth, she knew the worst and the best, she had accepted
“Oh, it’s a real
caprice de prince
,” 19 said Tristram. “I back out; a poor devil like me can’t help you to spend such very magnificent leisure as that. You should get introduced to the crowned heads.”
Newman looked at him a moment, and then, with his easy smile: “How does one do it?” he asked.
“Come, I like that!” cried Tristram. “It shows you are in earnest.”
“Of course I am in earnest. Didn’t I say I wanted the best? I know the best can’t be had for mere money, but I rather think money will do a good deal. In addition, I am willing to take a good deal of trouble.”
“You are not bashful, eh?”
“I haven’t the least idea. I want the biggest kind of entertainment a man can get. People, places, art, nature, everything! I want to see the tallest mountains, and the bluest lakes, and the finest pictures, and the handsomest churches, and the most celebrated men, and the most beautiful women.”
“Settle down in Paris, then. There are no mountains that I know of, and the only lake is in the Bois de Boulogne, 20 and not particularly blue. But there is everything else: plenty of pictures and churches, no end of celebrated men, and several beautiful women.”
“But I can’t settle down in Paris at this season, just as summer is coming on.”
“Oh, for the summer go up to Trouville.” 21
“What is Trouville?”
“The French Newport. 22 Half the Americans go.”
“Is it anywhere near the Alps?”
“About as near as Newport is to the Rocky Mountains.”
“Oh, I want to see Mont Blanc,” said Newman, “and Amsterdam, and the Rhine, and a lot of places. Venice in particular. I have great ideas about Venice.”
“Ah,” said Mr. Tristram, rising. “I see I shall have to introduce you to my wife!”
Chapter III.
H e performed this ceremony on the following day, when, by appointment, Christopher Newman went to dine with him Mr. and Mrs. Tristram lived behind one of those chalk-coloured façades which dec orate with their pompous sameness the broad avenues manufactured by Baron Haussmann 1 in the neighbourhood of the Arc de Triomphe Their apartment was rich in the modern conveniences, and Tristram lost no time in calling his visitor’s attention to their principal household treasures, the gas-lamps and the furnace-holes “Whenever you feel homesick,” he said, “you must come up here. We’ll stick you down before a register, under a good big burner, and—–”
“And you will soon get over your homesickness,” said Mrs. Tristram.
Her husband stared; his wife often had a tone which he found inscrutable; he could not tell for his life whether she was in jest or in earnest. The truth is that circumstances had done much to cultivate in Mrs. Tristram a marked tendency to irony. Her taste on many points differed from that of her husband; and though she made frequent concessions, it must be confessed that her concessions were not always graceful. They were founded upon a vague project she had of some day doing something very positive, something a trifle passionate. Whatshe meant to do she could by no means have told you; but meanwhile, nevertheless, she was buying a good conscience, by instalments.
It should be added, without delay, to anticipate misconception, that her little scheme of independence did not definitely involve the assistance of another person, of the opposite sex; she was not saving up virtue to cover the expenses of a flirtation. For this there were various reasons. To begin with, she had a very plain face, and she was entirely without illusions as to her appearance. She had taken its measure to a hair’s breadth, she knew the worst and the best, she had accepted
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