Yes; she had heard the music the night before. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. It always comes out sooner or later. What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind.
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