The American by Henry James Read Free Book Online Page A

answered: “Yes.”
    “And come to Paris to spend it, eh?”
    “Well, we shall see. So they carry those parasols here—the men-folk?”
    “Of course they do. They’re great things. They understand comfort out here.”
    “Where do you buy them?”
    “Anywhere, everywhere.”
    “Well, Tristram, I’m glad to get hold of you. You can show me the ropes. I suppose you know Paris inside out.”
    Mr. Tristram gave a mellow smile of self-gratulation. “Well, I guess there are not many men that can show me much. I’ll take care of you.”
    “It’s a pity you were not here a few minutes ago. I have just bought a picture. You might have put the thing through for me.”
    “Bought a picture?” said Mr. Tristram, looking vaguely round at the walls. “Why, do they sell them?”
    “I mean a copy.”
    “Oh, I see. These,” said Mr. Tristram, nodding at the Titians and Vandykes, “these, I suppose, are originals?”
    “I hope so,” cried Newman. “I don’t want a copy of a copy.”
    “Ah,” said Mr. Tristram, mysteriously, “you can never tell. They imitate, you know, so deucedly well. It’s like the jewellers, with their false stones. Go into the Palais Royal, 2 there; you see ‘Imitation’ on half the windows. The law obliges them to stick it on, you know; but you can’t tell the things apart. To tell the truth,” Mr. Tristram continued, with a wry face, “I don’t do much in pictures. I leave that to my wife.”
    “Ah, you have got a wife?”
    “Didn’t I mention it? She’s a very nice woman; you must know her. She’s up there in the Avenue d’Iéna.” 3
    “So you are regularly fixed—house and children and all?”
    “Yes; a tip-top house, and a couple of youngsters.”
    “Well,” said Christopher Newman, stretching his arms a little, with a sigh, “I envy you.”
    “Oh no, you don’t,” answered Mr. Tristram, giving him a little poke with his parasol.
    “I beg your pardon; I do.”
    “Well, you won’t, then, when—when—–”
    “You don’t certainly mean when I have seen your establishment?”
    “When you have seen Paris, my boy. You want to be your own master here.”
    “Oh, I have been my own master all my life, and I’m tired of it.”
    “Well, try Paris. How old are you?”
    “Thirty-six.”
    “C’est le bel âge
; 4 as they say here.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means that a man shouldn’t send away his plate till he has eaten his fill.”
    “All that? I have just made arrangements to take French lessons.”
    “Oh, you don’t want any lessons. You’ll pick it up. I never took any.”
    “I suppose you speak French as well as English?”
    “Better!” said Mr. Tristram, roundly. “It’s a splendid language. You can say all sorts of bright things in it.”
    “But I suppose,” said Christopher Newman, with an earnest desire for information, “that you must be bright to begin with.”
    “Not a bit; that’s just the beauty of it.”
    The two friends, as they exchanged these remarks, had remained standing where they met, and leaning against the rail which protected the pictures. Mr. Tristram at last declared that he was overcome with fatigue, and should be happy to sit down. Newman recommended in the highest terms the great divan on which he had been lounging, and they prepared to seat themselves. “This is a great place; isn’t it?” said Newman, with ardour.
    “Great place, great place. Finest thing in the world.” And then, suddenly, Mr. Tristram hesitated and looked about him. “I suppose they won’t let you smoke here?”
    Newman stared. “Smoke? I’m sure I don’t know. You know the regulations better than I.”
    “I? I never was here before!”
    “Never! in six years?”
    “I believe my wife dragged me here once when we first came to Paris, but I never found my way back.”
    “But you say you know Paris so well!”
    “I don’t call this Paris!” cried Mr. Tristram, with assurance. “Come; let’s go over to the Palais Royal and