“Very well.”
“You knew, by the way, that he had married my niece, Mlle. Fayard?”
“But certainly!” laughed the baron. “That was another of my defeats. The Princess Anna is still a spinster—though she also has become a bride—but of the church. M. Davis is happy, I trust?”
“Oh, yes; but he also is an American—though not so earnest a one as my husband here. Nevertheless he wished to find something to do—some way to employ his money—a way that would amuse him and not be too fatiguing. I had only to suggest the journal.”
“It is going to be rather wonderful,” said Selden, his eyes shining. “I have been in New York all summer making the arrangements; I was astonished at the enthusiasm; I shall have a splendid staff, and perhaps we shall accomplish something yet! But before I started it, I came back for this lady.”
“And now you are returning?”
“Yes—we sail to-morrow on the Paris.”
“That is good,” said the baron. “But come—let us drink to the journal—that it may accomplish all you hope for it! Yes,” he went on after a moment, “I am glad you are going back—though that means that I shall, perhaps, not see you again, for I am growing old. But it is not well for an American to stay too long in Europe. It is difficult for me to explain just what I mean. It is like an apple,” and he picked one up from the basket of fruit on the table. “One gathers one’s crop of apples and one puts them away for the winter, and some of them keep very well. But others, after a time, begin to show little specks here and there. That does not hurt them—indeed, it improves their flavour—but they must be used at once. Otherwise, almost before one knows it, they grow rotten at the core and have to be thrown away.
“Americans are like that. They do not keep well in the atmosphere of Europe. It is good for them, yes, up to a certain point. They grow a little specked, perhaps, but their flavour is better, more rich, more satisfying. But beyond that—no. Forgive me,” he added, carefully replacing the apple. “An old man likes to preach. Ah, here comes the surprise!”
M. Rizzi’s surprise proved to be a soufflé piping hot with an ice in the middle.