Chapter 3

by William Somerset Maugham

　　The Chien Noir, where Susie Boyd and Margaret generally dined, was themost charming restaurant in the quarter. Downstairs was a public room,where all and sundry devoured their food, for the little place had areputation for good cooking combined with cheapness; and the patron,a retired horse-dealer who had taken to victualling in order to build upa business for his son, was a cheery soul whose loud-voiced friendlinessattracted custom. But on the first floor was a narrow room, with threetables arranged in a horse-shoe, which was reserved for a small party ofEnglish or American painters and a few Frenchmen with their wives. Atleast, they were so nearly wives, and their manner had such a matrimonialrespectability, that Susie, when first she and Margaret were introducedinto this society, judged it would be vulgar to turn up her nose. Sheheld that it was prudish to insist upon the conventions of Notting Hillin the Boulevard de Montparnasse. The young women who had thrown in theirlives with these painters were modest in demeanour and quiet in dress.They were model housewives, who had preserved their self-respectnotwithstanding a difficult position, and did not look upon theirrelation with less seriousness because they had not muttered a fewwords before Monsieur le Maire.The room was full when Arthur Burdon entered, but Margaret had kept himan empty seat between herself and Miss Boyd. Everyone was speaking atonce, in French, at the top of his voice, and a furious argument wasproceeding on the merit of the later Impressionists. Arthur sat down, andwas hurriedly introduced to a lanky youth, who sat on the other side ofMargaret. He was very tall, very thin, very fair. He wore a very highcollar and very long hair, and held himself like an exhausted lily.'He always reminds me of an Aubrey Beardsley that's been dreadfullysmudged,' said Susie in an undertone. 'He's a nice, kind creature, buthis name is Jagson. He has virtue and industry. I haven't seen any of hiswork, but he has absolutely no talent.''How do you know, if you've not seen his pictures?' asked Arthur.'Oh, it's one of our conventions here that nobody has talent,' laughedSusie. 'We suffer one another personally, but we have no illusions aboutthe value of our neighbour's work.''Tell me who everyone is.''Well, look at that little bald man in the corner. That is Warren.'Arthur looked at the man she pointed out. He was a small person, witha pate as shining as a billiard-ball, and a pointed beard. He hadprotruding, brilliant eyes.'Hasn't he had too much to drink?' asked Arthur frigidly.'Much,' answered Susie promptly, 'but he's always in that condition, andthe further he gets from sobriety the more charming he is. He's the onlyman in this room of whom you'll never hear a word of evil. The strangething is that he's very nearly a great painter. He has the mostfascinating sense of colour in the world, and the more intoxicated he is,the more delicate and beautiful is his painting. Sometimes, after morethan the usual number of aperitifs, he will sit down in a cafe to do asketch, with his hand so shaky that he can hardly hold a brush; he has towait for a favourable moment, and then he makes a jab at the panel. Andthe immoral thing is that each of these little jabs is lovely. He's themost delightful interpreter of Paris I know, and when you've seen hissketches--he's done hundreds, of unimaginable grace and feeling anddistinction--you can never see Paris in the same way again.'The little maid who looked busily after the varied wants of the customersstood in front of them to receive Arthur's order. She was a hard-visagedcreature of mature age, but she looked neat in her black dress and whitecap; and she had a motherly way of attending to these people, with acapacious smile of her large mouth which was full of charm.'I don't mind what I eat,' said Arthur. 'Let Margaret order my dinner forme.''It would have been just as good if I had ordered it,' laughed Susie.They began a lively discussion with Marie as to the merits of the variousdishes, and it was only interrupted by Warren's hilarious expostulations.'Marie, I precipitate myself at your feet, and beg you to bring me apoule au riz.''Oh, but give me one moment, monsieur,' said the maid.'Do not pay any attention to that gentleman. His morals are detestable,and he only seeks to lead you from the narrow path of virtue.'Arthur protested that on the contrary the passion of hunger occupied atthat moment his heart to the exclusion of all others.'Marie, you no longer love me,' cried Warren. 'There was a time when youdid not look so coldly upon me when I ordered a bottle of white wine.'The rest of the party took up his complaint, and all besought her not toshow too hard a heart to the bald and rubicund painter.'Mais si, je vous aime, Monsieur Warren,' she cried, laughing, 'Jevous aime tous, tous.'She ran downstairs, amid the shouts of men and women, to give her orders.'The other day the Chien Noir was the scene of a tragedy,' said Susie.'Marie broke off relations with her lover, who is a waiter at Lavenue's,and would have no reconciliation. He waited till he had a free evening,and then came to the room downstairs and ordered dinner. Of course, shewas obliged to wait on him, and as she brought him each dish heexpostulated with her, and they mingled their tears.''She wept in floods,' interrupted a youth with neatly brushed hair andfat nose. 'She wept all over our food, and we ate it salt with tears. Webesought her not to yield; except for our encouragement she would havegone back to him; and he beats her.'Marie appeared again, with no signs now that so short a while ago romancehad played a game with her, and brought the dishes that had been ordered.Susie seized once more upon Arthur Burdon's attention.'Now please look at the man who is sitting next to Mr Warren.'Arthur saw a tall, dark fellow with strongly-marked features, untidyhair, and a ragged black moustache.'That is Mr O'Brien, who is an example of the fact that strength of willand an earnest purpose cannot make a painter. He's a failure, and heknows it, and the bitterness has warped his soul. If you listen to him,you'll hear every painter of eminence come under his lash. He can forgivenobody who's successful, and he never acknowledges merit in anyone tillhe's safely dead and buried.''He must be a cheerful companion,' answered Arthur. 'And who is the stoutold lady by his side, with the flaunting hat?''That is the mother of Madame Rouge, the little palefaced woman sittingnext to her. She is the mistress of Rouge, who does all the illustrationsfor La Semaine. At first it rather tickled me that the old lady shouldcall him mon gendre, my son-in-law, and take the irregular union of herdaughter with such a noble unconcern for propriety; but now it seemsquite natural.'The mother of Madame Rouge had the remains of beauty, and she sat boltupright, picking the leg of a chicken with a dignified gesture. Arthurlooked away quickly, for, catching his eye, she gave him an amorousglance. Rouge had more the appearance of a prosperous tradesman than ofan artist; but he carried on with O'Brien, whose French was perfect, anargument on the merits of Cezanne. To one he was a great master and tothe other an impudent charlatan. Each hotly repeated his opinion, asthough the mere fact of saying the same thing several times made it moreconvincing.'Next to me is Madame Meyer,' proceeded Susie. 'She was a governess inPoland, but she was much too pretty to remain one, and now she lives withthe landscape painter who is by her side.'Arthur's eyes followed her words and rested on a cleanshaven man with alarge quantity of grey, curling hair. He had a handsome face of adeliberately aesthetic type and was very elegantly dressed. His mannerand his conversation had the flamboyance of the romantic thirties. Hetalked in flowing periods with an air of finality, and what he said wasno less just than obvious. The gay little lady who shared his fortuneslistened to his wisdom with an admiration that plainly flattered him.Miss Boyd had described everyone to Arthur except young Raggles, whopainted still life with a certain amount of skill, and Clayson, theAmerican sculptor. Raggles stood for rank and fashion at the ChienNoir. He was very smartly dressed in a horsey way, and he walked withbowlegs, as though he spent most of his time in the saddle. He aloneused scented pomade upon his neat smooth hair. His chief distinctionwas a greatcoat he wore, with a scarlet lining; and Warren, whose memoryfor names was defective, could only recall him by that peculiarity. Butit was understood that he knew duchesses in fashionable streets, andoccasionally dined with them in solemn splendour.Clayson had a vinous nose and a tedious habit of saying brilliant things.With his twinkling eyes, red cheeks, and fair, pointed beard, he lookedexactly like a Franz Hals; but he was dressed like the caricature of aFrenchman in a comic paper. He spoke English with a Parisian accent.Miss Boyd was beginning to tear him gaily limb from limb, when the doorwas flung open, and a large person entered. He threw off his cloak with adramatic gesture.'Marie, disembarrass me of this coat of frieze. Hang my sombrero upon aconvenient peg.'He spoke execrable French, but there was a grandiloquence about hisvocabulary which set everyone laughing.'Here is somebody I don't know,' said Susie.'But I do, at least, by sight,' answered Burdon. He leaned over to DrPorhoet who was sitting opposite, quietly eating his dinner and enjoyingthe nonsense which everyone talked. 'Is not that your magician?''Oliver Haddo,' said Dr Porhoet, with a little nod of amusement.The new arrival stood at the end of the room with all eyes upon him. Hethrew himself into an attitude of command and remained for a momentperfectly still.'You look as if you were posing, Haddo,' said Warren huskily.'He couldn't help doing that if he tried,' laughed Clayson.Oliver Haddo slowly turned his glance to the painter.'I grieve to see, O most excellent Warren, that the ripe juice of theaperitif has glazed your sparkling eye.''Do you mean to say I'm drunk, sir?''In one gross, but expressive, word, drunk.'The painter grotesquely flung himself back in his chair as though he hadbeen struck a blow, and Haddo looked steadily at Clayson.'How often have I explained to you, O Clayson, that your deplorable lackof education precludes you from the brilliancy to which you aspire?'For an instant Oliver Haddo resumed his effective pose; and Susie,smiling, looked at him. He was a man of great size, two or threeinches more than six feet high; but the most noticeable thing abouthim was a vast obesity. His paunch was of imposing dimensions. His facewas large and fleshy. He had thrown himself into the arrogant attitudeof Velasquez's portrait of Del Borro in the Museum of Berlin; and hiscountenance bore of set purpose the same contemptuous smile. He advancedand shook hands with Dr Porhoet.'Hail, brother wizard! I greet in you, if not a master, at least astudent not unworthy my esteem.'Susie was convulsed with laughter at his pompousness, and he turned toher with the utmost gravity.'Madam, your laughter is more soft in mine ears than the singing ofBulbul in a Persian garden.'Dr Porhoet interposed with introductions. The magician bowed solemnly ashe was in turn made known to Susie Boyd, and Margaret, and Arthur Burdon.He held out his hand to the grim Irish painter.'Well, my O'Brien, have you been mixing as usual the waters of bitternesswith the thin claret of Bordeaux?''Why don't you sit down and eat your dinner?' returned the other,gruffly.'Ah, my dear fellow, I wish I could drive the fact into this head ofyours that rudeness is not synonymous with wit. I shall not have lived invain if I teach you in time to realize that the rapier of irony is moreeffective an instrument than the bludgeon of insolence.'O'Brien reddened with anger, but could not at once find a retort, andHaddo passed on to that faded, harmless youth who sat next to Margaret.'Do my eyes deceive me, or is this the Jagson whose name in its inanityis so appropriate to the bearer? I am eager to know if you still devoteupon the ungrateful arts talents which were more profitably employed uponhaberdashery.'The unlucky creature, thus brutally attacked, blushed feebly withoutanswering, and Haddo went on to the Frenchman, Meyer as more worthy ofhis mocking.'I'm afraid my entrance interrupted you in a discourse. Was it thecelebrated harangue on the greatness of Michelangelo, or was it thesearching analysis of the art of Wagner?''We were just going,' said Meyer, getting up with a frown.'I am desolated to lose the pearls of wisdom that habitually fall fromyour cultivated lips,' returned Haddo, as he politely withdrew MadameMeyer's chair.He sat down with a smile.'I saw the place was crowded, and with Napoleonic instinct decidedthat I could only make room by insulting somebody. It is cause forcongratulation that my gibes, which Raggles, a foolish youth, mistakesfor wit, have caused the disappearance of a person who lives in open sin;thereby vacating two seats, and allowing me to eat a humble meal withample room for my elbows.'Marie brought him the bill of fare, and he looked at it gravely.'I will have a vanilla ice, O well-beloved, and a wing of a tenderchicken, a fried sole, and some excellent pea-soup.''Bien, un potage, une sole, one chicken, and an ice.''But why should you serve them in that order rather than in the order Igave you?'Marie and the two Frenchwomen who were still in the room broke intoexclamations at this extravagance, but Oliver Haddo waved his fat hand.'I shall start with the ice, O Marie, to cool the passion with whichyour eyes inflame me, and then without hesitation I will devour the wingof a chicken in order to sustain myself against your smile. I shall thenproceed to a fresh sole, and with the pea-soup I will finish a notunsustaining meal.'Having succeeded in capturing the attention of everyone in the room,Oliver Haddo proceeded to eat these dishes in the order he had named.Margaret and Burdon watched him with scornful eyes, but Susie, who wasnot revolted by the vanity which sought to attract notice, looked at himcuriously. He was clearly not old, though his corpulence added to hisapparent age. His features were good, his ears small, and his nosedelicately shaped. He had big teeth, but they were white and even. Hismouth was large, with heavy moist lips. He had the neck of a bullock. Hisdark, curling hair had retreated from the forehead and temples in such away as to give his clean-shaven face a disconcerting nudity. The baldnessof his crown was vaguely like a tonsure. He had the look of a verywicked, sensual priest. Margaret, stealing a glance at him as he ate,on a sudden violently shuddered; he affected her with an uncontrollabledislike. He lifted his eyes slowly, and she looked away, blushing asthough she had been taken in some indiscretion. These eyes were the mostcurious thing about him. They were not large, but an exceedingly paleblue, and they looked at you in a way that was singularly embarrassing.At first Susie could not discover in what precisely their peculiaritylay, but in a moment she found out: the eyes of most persons convergewhen they look at you, but Oliver Haddo's, naturally or by a habit hehad acquired for effect, remained parallel. It gave the impression thathe looked straight through you and saw the wall beyond. It was uncanny.But another strange thing about him was the impossibility of tellingwhether he was serious. There was a mockery in that queer glance, asardonic smile upon the mouth, which made you hesitate how to take hisoutrageous utterances. It was irritating to be uncertain whether, whileyou were laughing at him, he was not really enjoying an elaborate joke atyour expense.His presence cast an unusual chill upon the party. The French membersgot up and left. Warren reeled out with O'Brien, whose uncouth sarcasmswere no match for Haddo's bitter gibes. Raggles put on his coat with thescarlet lining and went out with the tall Jagson, who smarted still underHaddo's insolence. The American sculptor paid his bill silently. Whenhe was at the door, Haddo stopped him.'You have modelled lions at the Jardin des Plantes, my dear Clayson. Haveyou ever hunted them on their native plains?''No, I haven't.'Clayson did not know why Haddo asked the question, but he bristled withincipient wrath.'Then you have not seen the jackal, gnawing at a dead antelope, scamperaway in terror when the King of Beasts stalked down to make his meal.'Clayson slammed the door behind him. Haddo was left with Margaret, andArthur Burdon, Dr Porhoet, and Susie. He smiled quietly.'By the way, are you a lion-hunter?' asked Susie flippantly.He turned on her his straight uncanny glance.'I have no equal with big game. I have shot more lions than any manalive. I think Jules Gerard, whom the French of the nineteenth centurycalled Le Tueur de Lions, may have been fit to compare with me, but Ican call to mind no other.'This statement, made with the greatest calm, caused a moment of silence.Margaret stared at him with amazement.'You suffer from no false modesty,' said Arthur Burdon.'False modesty is a sign of ill-breeding, from which my birth amplyprotects me.'Dr Porhoet looked up with a smile of irony.'I wish Mr Haddo would take this opportunity to disclose to us themystery of his birth and family. I have a suspicion that, like theimmortal Cagliostro, he was born of unknown but noble parents, andeducated secretly in Eastern palaces.''In my origin I am more to be compared with Denis Zachaire or withRaymond Lully. My ancestor, George Haddo, came to Scotland in the suiteof Anne of Denmark, and when James I, her consort, ascended the Englishthrone, he was granted the estates in Staffordshire which I stillpossess. My family has formed alliances with the most noble blood ofEngland, and the Merestons, the Parnabys, the Hollingtons, have beenproud to give their daughters to my house.''Those are facts which can be verified in works of reference,' saidArthur dryly.'They can,' said Oliver.'And the Eastern palaces in which your youth was spent, and the blackslaves who waited on you, and the bearded sheikhs who imparted to yousecret knowledge?' cried Dr Porhoet.'I was educated at Eton, and I left Oxford in 1896.''Would you mind telling me at what college you were?' said Arthur.'I was at the House.''Then you must have been there with Frank Hurrell.''Now assistant physician at St Luke's Hospital. He was one of my mostintimate friends.''I'll write and ask him about you.''I'm dying to know what you did with all the lions you slaughtered,' saidSusie Boyd.The man's effrontery did not exasperate her as it obviously exasperatedMargaret and Arthur. He amused her, and she was anxious to make him talk.'They decorate the floors of Skene, which is the name of my place inStaffordshire.' He paused for a moment to light a cigar. 'I am the onlyman alive who has killed three lions with three successive shots.''I should have thought you could have demolished them by the effects ofyour oratory,' said Arthur.Oliver leaned back and placed his two large hands on the table.'Burkhardt, a German with whom I was shooting, was down with fever andcould not stir from his bed. I was awakened one night by the uneasinessof my oxen, and I heard the roaring of lions close at hand. I took mycarbine and came out of my tent. There was only the meagre light of themoon. I walked alone, for I knew natives could be of no use to me.Presently I came upon the carcass of an antelope, half-consumed, and Imade up my mind to wait for the return of the lions. I hid myself amongthe boulders twenty paces from the prey. All about me was the immensityof Africa and the silence. I waited, motionless, hour after hour, tillthe dawn was nearly at hand. At last three lions appeared over a rock.I had noticed, the day before, spoor of a lion and two females.''May I ask how you could distinguish the sex?' asked Arthur,incredulously.'The prints of a lion's fore feet are disproportionately larger thanthose of the hind feet. The fore feet and hind feet of the lioness arenearly the same size.''Pray go on,' said Susie.'They came into full view, and in the dim light, as they stood chest on,they appeared as huge as the strange beasts of the Arabian tales. I aimedat the lioness which stood nearest to me and fired. Without a sound, likea bullock felled at one blow, she dropped. The lion gave vent to asonorous roar. Hastily I slipped another cartridge in my rifle. Then Ibecame conscious that he had seen me. He lowered his head, and his crestwas erect. His lifted tail was twitching, his lips were drawn back fromthe red gums, and I saw his great white fangs. Living fire flashed fromhis eyes, and he growled incessantly. Then he advanced a few steps, hishead held low; and his eyes were fixed on mine with a look of rage.Suddenly he jerked up his tail, and when a lion does this he charges. Igot a quick sight on his chest and fired. He reared up on his hind legs,roaring loudly and clawing at the air, and fell back dead. One lionessremained, and through the smoke I saw her spring to her feet and rushtowards me. Escape was impossible, for behind me were high boulders thatI could not climb. She came on with hoarse, coughing grunts, and withdesperate courage I fired my remaining barrel. I missed her clean. I tookone step backwards in the hope of getting a cartridge into my rifle, andfell, scarcely two lengths in front of the furious beast. She missed me.I owed my safety to that fall. And then suddenly I found that she hadcollapsed. I had hit her after all. My bullet went clean through herheart, but the spring had carried her forwards. When I scrambled to myfeet I found that she was dying. I walked back to my camp and ate acapital breakfast.'Oliver Haddo's story was received with astonished silence. No one couldassert that it was untrue, but he told it with a grandiloquence thatcarried no conviction. Arthur would have wagered a considerable sum thatthere was no word of truth in it. He had never met a person of this kindbefore, and could not understand what pleasure there might be in theelaborate invention of improbable adventures.'You are evidently very brave,' he said.'To follow a wounded lion into thick cover is probably the most dangerousproceeding in the world,' said Haddo calmly. 'It calls for the utmostcoolness and for iron nerve.'The answer had an odd effect on Arthur. He gave Haddo a rapid glance, andwas seized suddenly with uncontrollable laughter. He leaned back in hischair and roared. His hilarity affected the others, and they broke intopeal upon peal of laughter. Oliver watched them gravely. He seemedneither disconcerted nor surprised. When Arthur recovered himself, hefound Haddo's singular eyes fixed on him.'Your laughter reminds me of the crackling of thorns under a pot,' hesaid.Haddo looked round at the others. Though his gaze preserved its fixity,his lips broke into a queer, sardonic smile.'It must be plain even to the feeblest intelligence that a man can onlycommand the elementary spirits if he is without fear. A capricious mindcan never rule the sylphs, nor a fickle disposition the undines.'Arthur stared at him with amazement. He did not know what on earth theman was talking about. Haddo paid no heed.'But if the adept is active, pliant, and strong, the whole world will beat his command. He will pass through the storm and no rain shall fallupon his head. The wind will not displace a single fold of his garment.He will go through fire and not be burned.'Dr Porhoet ventured upon an explanation of these cryptic utterances.'These ladies are unacquainted with the mysterious beings of whom youspeak, cher ami. They should know that during the Middle Agesimagination peopled the four elements with intelligences, normallyunseen, some of which were friendly to man and others hostile. They werethought to be powerful and conscious of their power, though at the sametime they were profoundly aware that they possessed no soul. Their lifedepended upon the continuance of some natural object, and hence for themthere could be no immortality. They must return eventually to the abyssof unending night, and the darkness of death afflicted them always. Butit was thought that in the same manner as man by his union with God hadwon a spark of divinity, so might the sylphs, gnomes, undines, andsalamanders by an alliance with man partake of his immortality. And manyof their women, whose beauty was more than human, gained a human soul byloving one of the race of men. But the reverse occurred also, and often alove-sick youth lost his immortality because he left the haunts of hiskind to dwell with the fair, soulless denizens of the running streams orof the forest airs.''I didn't know that you spoke figuratively,' said Arthur to Oliver Haddo.The other shrugged his shoulders.'What else is the world than a figure? Life itself is but a symbol. Youmust be a wise man if you can tell us what is reality.''When you begin to talk of magic and mysticism I confess that I am out ofmy depth.''Yet magic is no more than the art of employing consciously invisiblemeans to produce visible effects. Will, love, and imagination are magicpowers that everyone possesses; and whoever knows how to develop them totheir fullest extent is a magician. Magic has but one dogma, namely, thatthe seen is the measure of the unseen.''Will you tell us what the powers are that the adept possesses?''They are enumerated in a Hebrew manuscript of the sixteenth century,which is in my possession. The privileges of him who holds in his righthand the Keys of Solomon and in his left the Branch of the BlossomingAlmond are twenty-one. He beholds God face to face without dying, andconverses intimately with the Seven Genii who command the celestial army.He is superior to every affliction and to every fear. He reigns with allheaven and is served by all hell. He holds the secret of the resurrectionof the dead, and the key of immortality.''If you possess even these you have evidently the most variedattainments,' said Arthur ironically.'Everyone can make game of the unknown,' retorted Haddo, with a shrug ofhis massive shoulders.Arthur did not answer. He looked at Haddo curiously. He asked himselfwhether he believed seriously these preposterous things, or whether hewas amusing himself in an elephantine way at their expense. His marinerwas earnest, but there was an odd expression about the mouth, a hardtwinkle of the eyes, which seemed to belie it. Susie was vastlyentertained. It diverted her enormously to hear occult matters discussedwith apparent gravity in this prosaic tavern. Dr Porhoet broke thesilence.'Arago, after whom has been named a neighbouring boulevard, declared thatdoubt was a proof of modesty, which has rarely interfered with theprogress of science. But one cannot say the same of incredulity, and hethat uses the word impossible outside of pure mathematics is lacking inprudence. It should be remembered that Lactantius proclaimed belief inthe existence of antipodes inane, and Saint Augustine of Hippo added thatin any case there could be no question of inhabited lands.''That sounds as if you were not quite sceptical, dear doctor,' said MissBoyd.'In my youth I believed nothing, for science had taught me to distrusteven the evidence of my five senses,' he replied, with a shrug ofthe shoulders. 'But I have seen many things in the East which areinexplicable by the known processes of science. Mr Haddo has givenyou one definition of magic, and I will give you another. It may bedescribed merely as the intelligent utilization of forces which areunknown, contemned, or misunderstood of the vulgar. The young man whosettles in the East sneers at the ideas of magic which surround him,but I know not what there is in the atmosphere that saps his unbelief.When he has sojourned for some years among Orientals, he comes insensiblyto share the opinion of many sensible men that perhaps there is somethingin it after all.'Arthur Burdon made a gesture of impatience.'I cannot imagine that, however much I lived in Eastern countries, Icould believe anything that had the whole weight of science against it.If there were a word of truth in anything Haddo says, we should be unableto form any reasonable theory of the universe.''For a scientific man you argue with singular fatuity,' said Haddo icily,and his manner had an offensiveness which was intensely irritating. 'Youshould be aware that science, dealing only with the general, leaves outof consideration the individual cases that contradict the enormousmajority. Occasionally the heart is on the right side of the body, butyou would not on that account ever put your stethoscope in any otherthan the usual spot. It is possible that under certain conditions thelaw of gravity does not apply, yet you will conduct your life under theconviction that it does so invariably. Now, there are some of us whochoose to deal only with these exceptions to the common run. The dull manwho plays at Monte Carlo puts his money on the colours, and generallyblack or red turns up; but now and then zero appears, and he loses. Butwe, who have backed zero all the time, win many times our stake. Here andthere you will find men whose imagination raises them above the humdrumof mankind. They are willing to lose their all if only they have chanceof a great prize. Is it nothing not only to know the future, as did theprophets of old, but by making it to force the very gates of theunknown?'Suddenly the bantering gravity with which he spoke fell away from him. Asingular light came into his eyes, and his voice was hoarse. Now at lastthey saw that he was serious.'What should you know of that lust for great secrets which consumes me tothe bottom of my soul!''Anyhow, I'm perfectly delighted to meet a magician,' cried Susie gaily.'Ah, call me not that,' he said, with a flourish of his fat hands,regaining immediately his portentous flippancy. 'I would be known ratheras the Brother of the Shadow.''I should have thought you could be only a very distant relation ofanything so unsubstantial,' said Arthur, with a laugh.Oliver's face turned red with furious anger. His strange blue eyes grewcold with hatred, and he thrust out his scarlet lips till he had theruthless expression of a Nero. The gibe at his obesity had caught him onthe raw. Susie feared that he would make so insulting a reply that aquarrel must ensure.'Well, really, if we want to go to the fair we must start,' she saidquickly. 'And Marie is dying to be rid of us.'They got up, and clattered down the stairs into the street.