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He made his apologies for not having heard when we called out an hour previously from our floating vehicle. We had a frugal meal of bread, cheese, and cider set before us. I have always detested cheese, and would never eat it: there is nothing poetical about it. But I was dying with hunger. "Taste it, taste it," said Georges Clairin. I bit a morsel off, and found it excellent.
Clairin, mad with grief, held his friend in his arms held, kissed the beautiful head, now bruised and stained past even her knowing, with its bullet-wound in the temple. On his breast was found a medal with a silver tear hanging from it. She who had long worn it as a symbol of bereavement, in memory of dear ones lost to her, had given it to him in her first joy.
Alfred Stevens thought it was vigorously done, and Georges Clairin encouraged me to continue with painting. Then I launched out courageously, boldly. I began a picture which was nearly two metres in size, The Young Girl and Death. Then came a cry of indignation against me. Why did I want to do anything else but act, since that was my career? Why did I always want to be before the public?
But he was heavy and rather clumsy, and I did not care much about his conversation, in spite of his marvellous wit, for he was spiteful, and rather delighted when he could get a chance to attack the Emperor Napoleon III., whom I liked very much. We started alone, Georges Clairin, Godard, and I. The rumour of our journey had spread, but too late for the Press to get hold of the news.
I wanted to know what a guide-rope was. I got up feeling rather stupefied, and in order to rouse me Godard put the guide-rope into my hands. It was a strong rope of about 120 metres long, to which were attached at certain distances little iron hooks. Clairin and I let out the rope, laughing, while Godard, bending over the side of the car, was looking through a field-glass.
As the evening passed without her brother's reappearing in the drawing-room Madame Clairin came to him where he sat by his solitary candle. He took no notice of her presence for some time, but this affected her as unexpected indulgence. At last, however, he spoke with a particular harshness. "Ce jeune mufle has gone home at an hour's notice. What the devil does it mean?"
"I hope," she cried, "you're not going to start for Brussels!" Plainly he was much disturbed, and Madame Clairin might congratulate herself on the success of her plea for old-fashioned manners. And yet there was something that left her more puzzled than satisfied in the colourless tone with which he answered, "No, I shall remain here for the present."
Poor M. Clairin had only been married a year, but he had had time to measure the great spirit of true children of the anciens preux.
I returned yesterday from Paris by the only way by the train." Madame Clairin was infinitely struck. "I've never known a person at all to be so fond of Saint-Germain. They generally declare it's horribly dull." "That's not very polite to you," said Longmore, vexed at his lack of superior form and determined not to be abashed. "Ah what have I to do with it?" Madame Clairin brightly wailed.
On this occasion too Madame Clairin was entertaining him, but as her sister-in-law came in she surrendered her post and addressed herself to our hero. Longmore, at thirty, was still an ingenuous youth, and there was something in this lady's large assured attack that fairly intimidated him.
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