"Yes, he's clever," answered Mademoiselle Tremonceau. "There are the horses. Are you coming to tea?" she added, after a silence, as Radwalader rejoined them.
Radwalader turned to Andrew.
"The poet says that opportunity has no back hair," he observed. "I think we might grasp at this forelock, don't you?"
"Since Mademoiselle Tremonceau is so kind, I should say, by all means."
They watched the race in silence, and then:
"I can find room for you both in the victoria," suggested the girl.
"Better yet!" said Radwalader with alacrity, "provided Vane takes the strapontin. The only place where I feel my age is in my knees. Since you've never occupied Mademoiselle Tremonceau's strapontin, my dear Vane, you can have no idea of the physical discomfort attendant upon being a little lower than an angel. Think of my having won—even a placé! Shall we go now? I abhor the crush at the end. Give me a minute to cash my ticket, and then we'll look up the carriage."
"Do you speak French?" said Mademoiselle Tremonceau to Andrew, as Radwalader strolled off in the direction of the caisse.
"I seem to be able to say what I want when the occasion arises," he answered, "but I much prefer English. I am trying to adjust myself to new conditions, and I need all my energy for the task, without undertaking a strange language at the same time. You can have no idea how one's first visit to Paris sends preconceived notions tumbling about one's ears. So far, the Eiffel Tower is the only thing which looked as I expected it would. There's a surprise at every turn."