These necessary duties performed, he betook himself to a famous restaurant near the Madeleine, where he ordered an excellent breakfast. While he ate, he laid his plans.
Brainard had made most of his journey through life without congenial companions, but now he felt a desire for companionship. It was another of those hitherto unsuspected capacities that had been stimulated by his recent experiences. He bethought himself of the only human being he knew in all Paris—the amiable Mme. Vernon, his friend of the Toulouse; so after his breakfast he proceeded to the Frenchwoman’s hotel. Mme. Vernon welcomed him cordially.
“I thought you had returned to America.”
“I have another week,” he explained, “and I want you to show me how to spend it. Think of everything that a man twenty-eight years old, who has never had a day’s real vacation in his life, would like to see and do in Paris, and we’ll do it all together. That is, if you can give me the time!”
The good-natured Frenchwoman, who had returned to her native country after a long absence in “barbarian lands,” did not seem greatly occupied, and was not averse to spending a few days with this naïf American. She smiled upon Brainard.
“It is a serious matter,” she said after meditation, wrinkling her placid brow. “And you must see all?”
“Everything!”
“In one week!” she cried. “Allons—let us start!”
There began seven days of wonder and delight—enough to pay with good measure for all the sordid years of struggle that the young man had endured; enough to last him, if need be, for a lifetime of dull toil. The amiable Frenchwoman entered into the spirit of her task with enthusiasm and a high intelligence, and Brainard paid the way with unquestioning liberality.
“It’s my commission on two millions,” he said to himself, entering the items scrupulously in his little account book.