Chapter 10 - Page 2

show him
the work he had in hand, dragging out canvases, changing lights, moving
him off to see things at the other end of the great room. While the two
gentlemen were at a distance Mme. de Cliche expressed to Francie the
conviction that she would allow her to see her home: on which Francie
replied that she was not going home, but was going somewhere else with
Mr. Flack. And she explained, as if it simplified the matter, that this
gentleman was a big editor. Her sister-in-law that was to be echoed the
term and Francie developed her explanation. He was not the only big
editor, but one of the many big editors, of an enormous American paper.
He was going to publish an article--as big, as enormous, as all the rest
of the business--about her portrait. Gaston knew him perfectly: it was
Mr. Flack who had been the cause of Gaston's being presented to her.
Mme. de Cliche looked across at him as if the inadequacy of the cause
projected an unfavourable light upon an effect hitherto perhaps not
exactly measured; she appealed as to whether Francie thought Gaston
would like her to drive about Paris alone with one of ces messieurs.
"I'm sure I don't know. I never asked him!" said Francie. "He ought to
want me to be polite to a person who did so much for us." Soon after
this Mme. de Cliche retired with no fresh sign of any sense of the
existence of Mr. Flack, though he stood in her path as she approached
the door. She didn't kiss our young lady again, and the girl observed
that her leave-taking consisted of the simple words "Adieu
mademoiselle." She had already noted that in proportion as the Proberts
became majestic they became articulately French. She and Mr. Flack
remained in the studio but a short time longer, and when they were
seated in the carriage again, at the door--they had come in Mr. Dosson's
open landau--her companion said "And now where shall we go?" He spoke as
if on their way from the hotel he hadn't touched upon the pleasant
vision of a little turn in the Bois. He had insisted then that the day
was made on purpose, the air full of spring. At present he seemed to
wish to give himself the pleasure of making his companion choose that
particular alternative. But she only answered rather impatiently:

"Wherever you like, wherever you like!" And she sat there swaying her
parasol, looking about her, giving no order.

"Au Bois," said George Flack to the coachman, leaning back on the soft
cushions. For a few moments after the carriage had taken its easy
elastic start they were silent; but he soon began again. "Was that lady
one of your new relatives?"

"Do you mean one of Mr. Probert's old ones? She's his sister."

"Is