On a bleak morning between the spring and summer of 1901,
	in Paris, as Van, black-hatted, one hand playing with the warm
	loose change in his topcoat pocket and the other, fawn-gloved,
	upswinging a furled English umbrella, strode past a particularly
453.05	unattractive sidewalk café among the many lining the Avenue
	Guillaume Pitt, a chubby bald man in a rumpled brown suit
	with a watch-chained waistcoat stood up and hailed him.
	Van considered for a moment those red round cheeks, that
	black goatee.
453.10	“Ne uznayosh’ (You don’t recognize me)?”
	“Greg! Grigoriy Akimovich!” cried Van tearing off his glove.
	“I grew a regular vollbart last summer. You’d never have
	known me then. Beer? Wonder what you do to look so boyish,
	Van.”
453.15	“Diet of champagne, not beer,” said Professor Veen, putting
	on his spectacles and signaling to a waiter with the crook of his
	“umber.” “Hardly stops one adding weight, but keeps the
	scrotum crisp.”
	“I’m also very fat, yes?”

[ 453 ]

	“What about Grace, I can’t imagine her getting fat?”
	“Once twins, always twins. My wife is pretty portly, too.”
	“Tak tï zhenat (so you are married)? Didn’t know it. How
	long?”
454.05	“About two years.”
	“To whom?”
	“Maude Sween.”
	“The daughter of the poet?”
	“No, no, her mother is a Brougham.”
454.10	Might have replied “Ada Veen,” had Mr. Vinelander not
	been a quicker suitor. I think I met a Broom somewhere. Drop
	the subject. Probably a dreary union: hefty, high-handed wife,
	he more of a bore than ever.
	“I last saw you thirteen years ago, riding a black pony—no,
454.15	a black Silentium. Bozhe moy!”
	“Yes—Bozhe moy, you can well say that. Those lovely,
	lovely agonies in lovely Ardis! Oh, I was absolyutno bezumno
	(madly) in love with your cousin!”
	“You mean Miss Veen? I did not know it. How long—”
454.20	“Neither did she. I was terribly—”
	“How long are you staying—”
	“—terribly shy, because, of course, I realized that I could not
	compete with her numerous boy friends.”
	Numerous? Two? Three? Is it possible he never heard about
454.25	the main one? All the rose hedges knew, all the maids knew, in
	all three manors. The noble reticence of our bedmakers.
	“How long will you be staying in Lute? No, Greg, I
	ordered it. You pay for the next bottle. Tell me—”
	“So odd to recall! It was frenzy, it was fantasy, it was reality
454.30	in the x degree. I’d have consented to be beheaded by a Tartar,
	I declare, if in exchange I could have kissed her instep. You
	were her cousin, almost a brother, you can’t understand that
	obsession. Ah, those picnics! And Percy de Prey who boasted to
	me about her, and drove me crazy with envy and pity, and

[ 454 ]

	Dr. Krolik, who, they said, also loved her, and Phil Rack, a
	composer of genius—dead, dead, all dead!”
	“I really know very little about music but it was a great pleasure
	to make your chum howl. I have an appointment in a few
455.05	minutes, alas. Za tvoyo zdorovie, Grigoriy Akimovich.”
	“Arkadievich,” said Greg, who had let it pass once but now
	mechanically corrected Van.
	“Ach yes! Stupid slip of the slovenly tongue. How is Arkadiy
	Grigorievich?”
455.10	“He died. He died just before your aunt. I thought the papers
	paid a very handsome tribute to her talent. And where is
	Adelaida Danilovna? Did she marry Christopher Vinelander or
	his brother?”
	“In California or Arizona. Andrey’s the name, I gather. Per-
455.15	haps I’m mistaken. In fact, I never knew my cousin very well:
	I visited Ardis only twice, after all, for a few weeks each time,
	years ago.”
	“Somebody told me she’s a movie actress.”
	“I’ve no idea, I’ve never seen her on the screen.”
455.20	“Oh, that would be terrible, I declare—to switch on the
	dorotelly, and suddenly see her. Like a drowning man seeing
	his whole past, and the trees, and the flowers, and the wreathed
	dachshund. She must have been terribly affected by her mother’s
	terrible death.”
455.25	Likes the word “terrible,” I declare, A terrible suit of clothes,
	a terrible tumor. Why must I stand it? Revolting—and yet
	fascinating in a weird way: my babbling shadow, my burlesque
	double.
	Van was about to leave when a smartly uniformed chauffeur
455.30	came up to inform “my lord” that his lady was parked at the
	corner of rue Saïgon and was summoning him to appear.
	“Aha,” said Van, “I see you are using your British title. Your
	father preferred to pass for a Chekhovian colonel.”
	“Maude is Anglo-Scottish and, well, likes it that way. Thinks

[ 455 ]

	a title gets one better service abroad. By the way, somebody told
	me—yes, Tobak!—that Lucette is at the Alphonse Four. I
	haven’t asked you about your father? He’s in good health?”
	(Van bowed.) “And how is the guvernantka belletristka?”
456.05	“Her last novel is called L‘ami Luc. She just got the Lebon
	Academy Prize for her copious rubbish.”
	They parted laughing.
	A moment later, as happens so often in farces and foreign
	cities, Van ran into another friend. With a surge of delight he
456.10	saw Cordula in a tight scarlet skirt bending with baby words of
	comfort over two unhappy poodlets attached to the waiting-
	post of a sausage shop. Van stroked her with his fingertips, and
	as she straightened up indignantly and turned around (indigna-
	tion instantly replaced by gay recognition), he quoted the stale
456.15	but appropriate lines he had known since the days his school-
	mates annoyed him with them:
	The Veens speak only to Tobaks
	But Tobaks speak only to dogs.
	The passage of years had but polished her prettiness and
456.20	though many fashions had come and gone since 1889, he
	happened upon her at a season when hairdos and skirtlines had
	reverted briefly (another much more elegant lady was already
	ahead of her) to the style of a dozen years ago, abolishing the
	interruption of remembered approval and pleasure. She plunged
456.25	into a torrent of polite questions—but he had a more important
	matter to settle at once—while the flame still flickered.
	“Let’s not squander,” he said, “the tumescence of retrieved
	time on the gush of small talk. I’m bursting with energy, if that’s
	what you want to know. Now look; it may sound silly and
456.30	insolent but I have an urgent request. Will you cooperate with
	me in cornuting your husband? It’s a must!”
	“Really, Van!” exclaimed angry Cordula. “You go a bit far.
	I’m a happy wife. My Tobachok adores me. We’d have ten

[ 456 ]

	children by now if I’d not been careful with him and others.”
	“You’ll be glad to learn that this other has been found utterly
	sterile.”
	“Well, I’m anything but. I guess I’d cause a mule to foal by
457.05	just looking on. Moreover, I’m lunching today with the Goals.”
	“C’est bizarre, an exciting little girl like you who can be so
	tender with poodles and yet turns down a poor paunchy stiff
	old Veen.”
	“The Veens are much too gay as dogs go.”
457.10	“Since you collect adages,” persisted Van, “let me quote an
	Arabian one. Paradise is only one assbaa south of a pretty girl’s
	sash. Eh bien?”
	“You are impossible. Where and when?”
	“Where? In that drab little hotel across the street. When?
457.15	Right now. I’ve never seen you on a hobbyhorse yet, because
	that’s what tout confort promises—and not much else.”
	“I must be home not later than eleven-thirty, it’s almost eleven
	now.”
	“It will take five minutes. Please!”
457.20	Astraddle, she resembled a child braving her first merry-go-
	round. She made a rectangular moue as she used that vulgar
	contraption. Sad, sullen streetwalkers do it with expressionless
	faces, lips tightly closed. She rode it twice. Their brisk nub
	and its repetition lasted fifteen minutes in all, not five. Very
457.25	pleased with himself, Van walked with her for a stretch through
	the brown and green Bois de Belleau in the direction of her
	osobnyachyok (small mansion).
	“That reminds me,” he said, “I no longer use our Alexis
	apartment. I’ve had some poor people live there these last seven
457.30	or eight years—the family of a police officer who used to be a
	footman at Uncle Dan’s place in the country. My policeman is
	dead now and his widow and three boys have gone back to
	Ladore. I want to relinquish that flat. Would you like to accept
	it as a belated wedding present from an admirer? Good. We

[ 457 ]

	shall do it again some day. Tomorrow I have to be in London
	and on the third my favorite liner, Admiral Tobakoff, will
	take me to Manhattan. Au revoir. Tell him to look out for low
	lintels. Antlers can be very sensitive when new. Greg Erminin
458.05	tells me that Lucette is at the Alphonse Four?”
	“That’s right. And where’s the other?”
	“I think we’ll part here. It’s twenty minutes to twelve. You’d
	better toddle along.”
	“Au revoir. You’re a very bad boy and I’m a very bad girl.
458.10	But it was fun—even though you’ve been speaking to me not as
	you would to a lady friend but as you probably do to little
	whores. Wait. Here’s a top secret address where you can al-
	ways”—(fumbling in her handbag)—“reach me”—(finding a
	card with her husband’s crest and scribbling a postal crypto-
458.15	graph)—“at Malbrook, Mayne, where I spend every August.”
	She looked around, rose on her toes like a ballerina, and kissed
	him on the mouth. Sweet Cordula!

[ 458 ]