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that he was tired of them, but now it appeared that the fires of the young people's appreciation

warmed up the dead ashes of his own.

The Hungarian expert never failed to have something worth while to say about a painting,

and Zaharoff didn't fail to recognize that what he said was right; they talked about prices,

which were of interest to them both, and important to Zoltan—one never knew what might

come of such a contact. Lanny said: "This is the man who has taught me most of what I know

about art." Zoltan, flushing with pleasure, replied: "This from the stepson of Marcel Detaze!"

They talked about that painter, of whom Zaharoff had heard. He asked questions, and in his

mind the seed of an idea fell and began to germinate. Perhaps this was a way to get more of

Madame Zyszynski's time! Buy a Detaze!

Tea was served on the terrace in front of the chateau. A beautiful view of formal gardens and

distant forest, and when Lanny commented on it, Zaharoff said: "My wife chose this place and

I bought it from King Leopold of Belgium."

He didn't go any further, but Lanny knew the story, and on the drive back to Paris entertained

his passengers with the scabrous details. The King of the Belgians, a tall, magnificent personage

wearing a great square-cut white beard, had been wont to roam the highways and byways of

Paris in search of likely pieces of female flesh. The sixty-five-year-old monarch had chanced upon

the sixteen-year-old sister of one of the famous demi-mondaines of the city and had sent a

procuress to buy her; he had taken her to live in Hungary for a while, had fallen madly in love

with her and brought her back to Paris, and purchased this splendid chateau for her home. He

hadn't been content with it, but had insisted upon remodeling a great part, tearing out the

ceiling of his lady's bedroom and making it two stories tall, like a church. The four windows

facing the bed had draperies which had cost twenty thousand francs; the coverlet of English

point lace had cost a hundred and ten thousand—the pre-war kind of francs! Her bathroom was of

massive porphyry and her tub of silver; in the basement was a swimming-pool of gold mosaic.

Lanny, who had never had a bath here, wondered if the very proper Duquesa Marqueni had

retained these Byzantine splendors.

VII

Another of the homes which the trio visited was the town house of the Duс de Belleaumont, a

member of the old French nobility who had married a cattle-king's daughter from the

Argentine and so was able to live in the state of his forefathers. The palace stood on a corner near

the Parc Monceau, and had an impressive white marble exterior and about thirty rooms, many of

them spacious. It was decorated with that splendor which the French have cultivated through

centuries. Every piece of furniture, every tapestry and statue and vase was worthy of separate

study. A crystal cross set with sixteenth-century gold-enamel reliquaries, an inlaid Louis Seize

writing cabinet, a set of translucent azure ginger jars from ancient China—such things moved

Zoltan Kertezsi to raptures. The total effect was somewhat like a museum, but this does not trouble

anyone in France, and has been known to occur on Long Island, too.

The family was away, and the furniture was under dust-covers, but Zoltan knew the caretaker,

who, being sure of a generous tip, exhibited anything in which they expressed interest. The idea

occurred to Irma that the depression might have affected the market for Argentine beef, and

she inquired whether the place could be rented; the reply was that Madame should consult

the agent of M. le Duc. Irma did so, and learned that a properly accredited family might lease

the residence for the sum of a million francs per year.

"Why, Lanny, that's nothing!" exclaimed Irma. "Less than forty thousand dollars."

"But what on earth would you do with it?"

"Wouldn't you like to live in Paris and be able to entertain your friends?"

"But you've got one white elephant on your hands already!"

"Be sensible, darling, and face the facts. You don't like Shore Acres, or the people who come

to it. You want to live in France."

"But I've never asked for a palace!"

"You want your friends about you, and you want to do things for them. All your life you've

taken it for granted that somebody will do the entertaining, and you enjoy the benefits. You're

delighted to go to Sept Chenes and meet intellectual and cultivated people. You hear famous

musicians, you hear poets read their work —and apparently you think that kind of pleasure grows

on trees, you don't even have to pick the fruit, it comes already cut up in little cubes and served

on ice! Hasn't it occurred to you that Emily's health is failing? And some day you won't have

your mother, or Sophie, or Margy—you'll be dependent on what your wife has learned."

He saw that she had thought it all out, and he guessed that she had consulted the other

ladies. Naturally, they would approve, because it would provide good fun for them. "You'll be

taking a heavy load on your shoulders," he objected, feebly.

"It won't be so easy in a foreign country; but I'll get help, and I'll learn. It will be my job, just

as it has been Emily's."

"What will you do with Shore Acres?"

"Let's try this place for a year. If we like it, perhaps we can buy it, and sell Shore Acres; or if

mother wants to go on living there, she can cut down on the staff. If this depression goes on,

they'll be glad to work for their keep, and that'll be fair."

"But suppose your income goes on dropping, Irma!"

"If the world comes to an end, how can anybody say what he'll do! Anyhow, it can't do us any

harm to have a lot of friends."

VIII

It was a compromise she was proposing; she would live in France, as he desired, but she

would live according to her standards. In order to stop her, he would have to say a flat no, and

he didn't have the right to say that. It was her money, and all the world knew it.

There was nothing very novel to Lanny Budd in the idea of living in Paris. He had spent a

winter here during the Peace Conference, and another during the period of his vie a trois with

Marie de Bruyne. Paris offered every kind of art and entertainment, and it was centrally

situated; roads and cars had been so improved that you could reach London or Geneva or

Amsterdam in a few hours. They could step into their car in the morning and be in Bienvenu by

nightfall. "Really, it'll be about the same as commuting," said Irma.

What astonished him was the zest with which she set to work, and the speed with which she put

the job through. She was the daughter of J. Paramount Barnes, and all her life she had been used

to hearing decisions made and orders given. As soon as Lanny gave his consent she seated herself

at the telephone and put in a call for Jerry Pendleton in Cannes. "How's business?" she asked,

and when the familial cheery voice informed her that it was dead and buried, she asked if he

would like to have a job. He answered that he would jump for it, and she said: "Jump for the

night express, and don't miss your hold."

"But darling!" objected Lanny. "He doesn't know anything about running a palace!"

"He's honest, he's lived in France for fifteen years, and employed some help. It won't take

him long to learn the ropes."

When the red-headed ex-lieutenant from Kansas arrived, she put it up to him. He would

become steward, or perhaps Controleur-General, like Herr Meissner in Stubendorf. "Put on lots