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CHAPTER XXXII

AT £20,000 A YEAR

R. BLOOR and Rudd, after an easy and luxurious journey in reserved cabin and compartments, during which Mr. Bloor slept a good deal, reached Paris about seven and drove direct to their hotel, the Bristol, where Mr. Bloor was received like a prodigal son. A suite was at his service and an adjoining room and bath-room for Rudd. Where Roberts slept, Rudd knew not, but by day he was continually at hand. Mr. Bloor believed in using his servants, whether they were professional or amateur.

Mr. Bloor suggested dining quietly and lightly at the Anglais, and, as they were so late and the journey was fatiguing, going to bed.

"Never tire yourself in Paris," he said. "It is everyone's tendency and very foolish, because although it excites the nervous system, Paris is naturally exhausting to foreigners physically, and you want all your strength for digestion. One should rest a great deal in Paris."

Resting was not in the least Rudd's notion of a holiday in Paris, but he accepted the dictum.

At the Café Anglais (now, alas! no more) they found a table in a corner, and Mr. Bloor and the head waiter proceeded to build up a meal. Speaking in his slow and careful French, Mr. Bloor ascertained the respective merits of everything in the kitchen and eventually decided upon a Petite Marmite, a sole very simply done, a quarter of a saddle of pré salé and some early asparagus. With this they were to drink a soft and delicate claret upon the peculiar excellence of which the wine-waiter was prepared to stake his honour and faith. Over this meal they sat for two hours, the last of which was spent in tasting old brandy back to Waterloo under the delighted attention of the head waiter, who rejoiced in their gustatory satisfaction as keenly as though it was his own.

Rudd had not been long in discovering certain things about Mr. Bloor. One was that Mr. Bloor liked an audience. Another was that Mr. Bloor liked a protégé, especially one to whom the grand life was novel. Another was that Mr. Bloor was not much in earnest about his mission when the time came to carry it on. He was the type of man who spends happier hours in getting ready to begin than in beginning; therein differing very sharply from his potential secretary, who liked plunging in. So far, Mr. Bloor had not referred again to the work.

I shall hear enough about it to-morrow, Rudd thought, as he prepared for sleep.

The next morning was Sunday and Rudd was up and out early. He went first along the river to Nôtre

Dame and heard Mass; and then to the Morgue, which in those days was open to all, and saw through the glass four bodies on the sloping slab. They were all dressed, and this and the yellowness of their skin made them more like fallen wax-works than details in unsolved mysteries of passion, crime or dejection.

Afterwards he entered the Louvre for an hour to see the "Monna Lisa" and the "Winged Victory" and the "Venus of Milo," and so back to the hotel in time for déjeuner.

Mr. Bloor was ready in radiantly cut clothes, with a new grey-blue waistcoat. He had with him some field-glasses, for after breakfast, he explained, they were going to Longchamps to see this or that Prix and the spring fashions. But breakfast first, at Voisin's.

Voisin's, which was then at the top of its form, severe, distinguished and ambassadorial, provided them with a simple but very choice meal, again ordered by Mr. Bloor in confidential collaboration with the head waiter. It began with a slice of melon, which was not Rudd's first acquaintance with that delicacy, but his first acquaintance with it at any but the other, or middle-class, end of a meal, and passed on to eggs seductively prepared and a chicken cooked in a way peculiar to the house, accompanied by a perfect salad. With this a dry white wine and at the end a Gervais cream cheese.

During this meal, as during last night's dinner, Mr. Bloor's conversation was largely devoted to one's

duty to one's stomach and the pleasure of artistic gastronomy. Often the simplest was the most luxurious. For his part indeed he cared only for simple food, but it must be good. Only in good restaurants did they understand food; and these restaurants therefore were, as he always said, the cheapest in the end. Take mutton, for example. At Voisin's, he would wager, they kept scores of joints hanging, all dated, and these were cooked not a minute before they were ready and not a minute after. Was it not so, Jean?

Jean, the head waiter, who chanced to be passing, asked to be informed as to the nature of the question; and then replied, embarrassing Rudd by directing his answer, in slow but intricate French, directly at him.

"Oui, oui," Rudd murmured at intervals, and fairly honestly too, for he could detect the gist though much of the detail escaped him, endeavouring to force into his eye a look of intelligence sufficiently real not to belie him.

Rudd was not unique. How much time in Paris one can spend in this struggle!

Mr. Bloor also pointed out various other persons in the restaurant, chiefly Americans whose names were synonymous with millions of money. Here and there a Frenchman of note, too, and one Russian prince, well known on the turf, eagerly devouring forced peaches at ten francs each.

Mr. Bloor having paid the bill from a slender pocket-book packed with notes-slender in order that it might not impair the shape of his coat-they entered

a motor-car in waiting for them and started for Longchamps.

It was in the early days of motoring, but already the crossing of the Champs Elysées had begun to be a most perilous undertaking. The chauffeur drove like a Napoleon. They flew.

It was Rudd's first bold ride, and he thrilled to it. They had hair-breadth evasions, and he laughed. The thought of danger never obtruded; it was splendid, terrific, and he wished it could go on for ever. But then he wished that all this strange new life might go on for ever: the distinguished meals, the luxury, the wealth, the sense of superiority and ease.

They passed other cars and carriages all bound the same way, all containing pleasure-seekers, and it was borne in upon Rudd as he looked at them how much more is woman a queen in Paris than in London. In London there are women enough and many of them are beautiful. But in London they rarely seem to rule, to command, to dominate. In Paris, in the country of the Salic law, woman reigns. Man has to do as she wishes.

Women were the principal occupants of these other cars and carriages-with men in attendance. At Longchamps the ascendancy of woman was even more noticeable, for the Pésage was captured by them, peacocking in something more than their best. The racing was secondary. Only between the latest models. in hats could Rudd catch a glimpse of horses at all.