Contents:
VillaRubeinAManofDevonAKnightSalvationofaForsyteTheSilencePREFACE
Writingnotlongagotomyoldestliteraryfriend，Iexpressedinamomentofheedlesssentimentthewishthatwemighthaveagainoneofourtalksoflong—pastdays，overthepurposesandmethodsofourart。Andmyfriend，wiserthanI，ashehasalwaysbeen，repliedwiththisdoubtingphrase"Couldwerecapturethezestofthatoldtime？"
Iwouldnotliketobelievethatourfaithinthevalueofimaginativearthasdiminished，thatwethinkitlessworthwhiletostruggleforglimpsesoftruthandforthewordswhichmaypassthemontoothereyes;orthatwecannolongerdiscernthestarwetriedtofollow;butIdofear，withhim，thathalfalifetimeofendeavourhasdulledtheexuberancewhichkeptoneuptillmorningdiscussingthewaysandmeansofaestheticachievement。Wehavediscovered，perhapswithacertainfinality，thatbynotalkcanawriteraddacubittohisstature，orchangethetemperamentwhichmouldsandcoloursthevisionoflifehesetsbeforethefewwhowillpausetolookatit。Andso——therestissilence，andwhatofworkwemaystilldowillbedoneinthatdoggedmutenesswhichisthelotofadvancingyears。
Othertimes，othermenandmodes，butnotothertruth。Truth，thoughessentiallyrelative，likeEinstein’stheory，willneverloseitsever—newanduniquequality—perfectproportion;forTruth，tothehumanconsciousnessatleast，isbutthatvitallyjustrelationofparttowholewhichistheveryconditionoflifeitself。Andthetaskbeforetheimaginativewriter，whetherattheendofthelastcenturyoralltheseaeonslater，isthepresentationofavisionwhichtoeyeandearandmindhastheimplicitproportionsofTruth。
Iconfesstohavealwayslookedforacertainflavourinthewritingsofothers，andcraveditformyown，believingthatalltruevisionissocolouredbythetemperamentoftheseer，astohavenotonlythejustproportionsbuttheessentialnoveltyofalivingthingfor，afterall，notwolivingthingsarealike。AworkoffictionshouldcarrythehallmarkofitsauthorassurelyasaGoya，aDaumier，aVelasquez，andaMathewMaris，shouldbetheunmistakablecreationsofthosemasters。Thisisnottospeakoftricksandmannerswhichlendthemselvestothatfacileelf，thecaricaturist，butofacertainindividualwayofseeingandfeeling。Ayoungpoetoncesaidofanotherandmorepopularpoet:"Oh！yes，butbecutsnoice。
"And，whenonecametothinkofit，hedidnot;acertainflabbinessofspirit，alackoftemperament，anabsence，perhaps，oftheironic，orpassionate，view，insubstantiatedhiswork;ithadnoedge——justafelicitywhichpassedfordistinctionwiththecrowd。
Letmenotbeunderstoodtoimplythatanovelshouldbeasortofsandwich，inwhichtheauthor’smoodorphilosophyisthesliceofham。One’sdemandisforafarmoresubtleimpregnationofflavour;
justthat，forinstance，whichmakesDeMaupassantamorepoignantandfascinatingwriterthanhismasterFlaubert，DickensandThackeraymorelivingandpermanentthanGeorgeEliotorTrollope。
Itoncefelltomylottobethepreliminarycriticofabookonpainting，designedtoprovethattheartist’ssolefunctionwastheimpersonalelucidationofthetruthsofnature。IwasregretfullycompelledtoobservethattherewerenosuchthingsasthetruthsofNature，forthepurposesofart，apartfromtheindividualvisionoftheartist。Seerandthingseen，inextricablyinvolvedonewiththeother，formthetextureofanymasterpiece;andI，atleast，demandtherefromadistinctimpressionoftemperament。Ineversaw，intheflesh，eitherDeMaupassantorTchekov——thosemastersofsuchdifferentmethodsentirelydevoidofdidacticism——buttheirworkleavesonmeastrangelypotentsenseofpersonality。Suchsubtleinterminglingofseerwiththingseenistheoutcomeonlyoflongandintricatebrooding，aprocessnottoofavouredbymodernlife，yetwithoutwhichweachievelittlebutafluentchaosofcleverinsignificantimpressions，akindofglorifiedjournalism，holdingmuchthesamerelationtothedeeply—impregnatedworkofTurgenev，Hardy，andConrad，asafilmbearstoaplay。
Speakingformyself，withtheimmodestyrequiredofonewhohazardsanintroductiontohisownwork，IwaswritingfictionforfiveyearsbeforeIcouldmasterevenitsprimarytechnique，muchlessachievethatunionofseerwiththingseen，whichperhapsbeginstoshowitselfalittleinthisvolume——bindingupthescantyharvestsof1899，1900，and1901——especiallyinthetales:"AKnight，"and"SalvationofaForsyte。"Men，women，trees，andworksoffiction——
verytinyaretheseedsfromwhichtheyspring。Iusedreallytoseethe"Knight"——in1896，wasit？——sittinginthe"Place"infrontoftheCasinoatMonteCarlo;andbecausehisdried—upelegance，hisburntstrawhat，quietcourtesyofattitude，andbigdog，usedtofascinateandintrigueme，Ibegantoimaginehislifesoastoanswermyownquestionsandtosatisfy，Isuppose，themoodIwasin。
Ineverspoketohim，Ineversawhimagain。Hisrealstory，nodoubt，wasasdifferentfromthatwhichIwovearoundhisfigureasnightfromday。
AsforSwithin，wildhorseswillnotdragfrommeconfessionofwhereandwhenIfirstsawtheprototypewhichbecameenlargedtohisbulkystature。IoweSwithinmuch，forhefirstreleasedthesatiristinme，andis，moreover，theonlyoneofmycharacterswhomIkilledbeforeIgavehimlife，foritisin"TheManofProperty"thatSwithinForsytemorememorablylives。
Rangingbeyondthisvolume，Icannotrecollectwritingthefirstwordsof"TheIslandPharisees"——butitwouldbeaboutAugust，1901。
Likeallthestoriesin"VillaRubein，"and，indeed，mostofmytales，thebookoriginatedinthecuriosity，philosophicreflections，andunphilosophicemotionsrousedinmebysomesinglefigureinreallife。InthiscaseitwasFerrand，whoserealname，ofcourse，wasnotFerrand，andwhodiedinsome"sacredinstitution"manyyearsagoofaconsumptionbroughtonbytheconditionsofhiswanderinglife。
Ifnot"abeloved，"hewasatruevagabond，andIfirstmethimintheChampsElysees，justasin"ThePigeon"hedescribeshismeetingwithWellwyn。Thoughdrawnverymuchfromlife，hedidnotintheendturnoutveryliketheFerrandofreallife——the，figuresoffictionsoondivergefromtheirprototypes。
Thefirstdraftof"TheIslandPharisees"wasburiedinadrawer;
whenretrievedtheotherday，afternineteenyears，itdisclosedapicaresquestringofanecdotestoldbyFerrandinthefirstperson。
Thesetwo—thirdsofabookwerelaidtorestbyEdwardGarnett’sdictumthatitsauthorwasnotsufficientlywithinFerrand’sskin;
and，strugglingheavilywithlazinessandpride，hestartedafreshintheskinofShelton。Threetimesbewrotethatnovel，andthenitwaslonginfindingtheeyeofSydneyPawling，whoaccepteditforHeinemann’sin1904。Thatwasaperiodoffermentandtransitionwithme，akindoflongawakeningtothehometruthsofsocialexistenceandnationalcharacter。Theliquorbubbledtoofuriouslyforclearbottling。Andthebook，afterall，becamebutanintroductiontoallthosefollowingnovelswhichdepict——somewhatsatirically——thevarioussectionsofEnglish"Society"withamoreorlesscapital"S。"
Lookingbackonthelong—stretched—outbodyofone’swork，itisinterestingtomarktheendlessduelfoughtwithinamanbetweentheemotionalandcriticalsidesofhisnature，firstone，thentheother，gettingtheupperhand，andtooseldomfusingtilltheresulthasthemellownessoffullachievement。Onecaneventellthenatureofone’sreaders，bytheirpreferencefortheworkwhichrevealsmoreofthissidethanofthat。Myearlyworkwascertainlymoreemotionalthancritical。Butfrom1901camenineyearswhenthecriticalwas，inthemain，holdingsway。From1910to1918theemotionalagainstruggledfortheupperhand;andfromthattimeonthereseemstohavebeensomethingofa"deadbeat。"Sotheconflictgoes，bywhatmysterioustidespromoted，Iknownot。
AnauthormusteverwishtodiscoverahaplessmemberofthePublicwho，neveryethavingreadawordofhiswriting，wouldsubmittotheordealofreadinghimrightthroughfrombeginningtoend。Probablytheeffectcouldonlybejudgedthroughanautopsy，butintheremotecaseofsurvival，itwouldinterestonesoprofoundlytoseethedifferences，ifany，producedinthatreader’scharacteroroutlookoverlife。This，however，isaconsummationwhichwillremaindevoutlytobewished，forthereisalimittohumancomplaisance。
Onewillneverknowtheexactmeasureofone’sinfectingpower;orwhether，indeed，oneisnotjustalongsoporific。
Awritertheysay，shouldnotfavouritizeamonghiscreations;butthenawritershouldnotdosomanythingsthatbedoes。Thiswriter，certainly，confessestohavingfavourites，andofhisnovelssofarbelikesbest:TheForsyteSeries;"TheCountryHouse";
"Fraternity";"TheDarkFlower";and"FiveTales";believingthesetobetheworkswhichmostfullyachievefusionofseerwiththingseen，mostsubtlydisclosetheindividualityoftheirauthor，andbestrevealsuchoftruthashasbeenvouchsafedtohim。
JOHNGALSWORTHY。
TO
MYSISTER
BLANCHELILIANSAUTER
VILLARUBEIN
I
WalkingalongtheriverwallatBotzen，EdmundDawneysaidtoAloisHarz:"Wouldyoucaretoknowthefamilyatthatpinkhouse，VillaRubein？"
Harzansweredwithasmile:
"Perhaps。"
"Comewithmethenthisafternoon。"
Theyhadstoppedbeforeanoldhousewithablind，desertedlook，thatstoodbyitselfonthewall;Harzpushedthedooropen。
"Comein，youdon’twantbreakfastyet。I’mgoingtopainttheriverto—day。"
Heranupthebarebroadstairs，andDawneyfollowedleisurely，histhumbshookedinthearmholesofhiswaistcoat，andhisheadthrownback。
Intheatticwhichfilledthewholetopstory，Harzhadpulledacanvastothewindow。Hewasayoungmanofmiddleheight，squareshouldered，active，withanangularface，highcheek—bones，andastrong，sharpchin。Hiseyeswerepiercingandsteel—blue，hiseyebrowsveryflexible，noselongandthinwithahighbridge;andhisdark，unpartedhairfittedhimlikeacap。Hisclotheslookedasifhenevergavethemasecondthought。
Thisroom，whichservedforstudio，bedroom，andsitting—room，wasbareanddusty。Belowthewindowtheriverinspringfloodrusheddownthevalley，astream，ofmoltenbronze。Harzdodgedbeforethecanvaslikeafencerfindinghisdistance;Dawneytookhisseatonapackingcase。
"Thesnowshavegonewitharushthisyear，"hedrawled。"TheTalfercomesdownbrown，theEisackcomesdownblue;theyflowintotheEtschandmakeitgreen;aparableoftheSpringforyou，mypainter。"
Harzmixedhiscolours。
"I’venotimeforparables，"hesaid，"notimeforanything。IfI
couldbeguaranteedtolivetoninety—nine，likeTitian——hehadachance。Lookatthatpoorfellowwhowaskilledtheotherday！Allthatstruggle，andthen——justattheturn！"
HespokeEnglishwithaforeignaccent;hisvoicewasratherharsh，buthissmileverykindly。
Dawneylitacigarette。
"Youpainters，"hesaid，"arebetteroffthanmostofus。Youcanstrikeoutyourownline。NowifIchoosetotreatacaseoutoftheordinarywayandthepatientdies，I’mruined。"
"MydearDoctor——ifIdon’tpaintwhatthepubliclikes，Istarve;
allthesameI’mgoingtopaintinmyownway;intheendIshallcomeoutontop。"
"Itpaystoworkinthegroove，myfriend，untilyou’vemadeyourname;afterthat——dowhatyoulike，they’lllickyourbootsallthesame。"
"Ah，youdon’tloveyourwork。"
Dawneyansweredslowly:"Neversohappyaswhenmyhandsarefull。
ButIwanttomakemoney，togetknown，tohaveagoodtime，goodcigars，goodwine。Ihatediscomfort。No，myboy，Imustworkitontheusuallines;Idon’tlikeit，butImustlumpit。Onestartsinlifewithsomenotionoftheideal——it’sgonebytheboardwithme。
I’vegottoshovealonguntilI’vemademyname，andthen，mylittleman——then——"
"Thenyou’llbesoft！"Youpaydearlyforthatfirstperiod！"
"Takemychanceofthat;there’snootherway。"
"Makeone！"
"Humph！"
Harzpoisedhisbrush，asthoughitwereaspear:
"Amanmustdothebestinhim。Ifhehastosuffer——lethim！"
Dawneystretchedhislargesoftbody;acalculatinglookhadcomeintohiseyes。
"You’reatoughlittleman！"hesaid。
"I’vehadtobetough。"
Dawneyrose;tobaccosmokewaswreathedroundhisunruffledhair。
"TouchingVillaRubein，"hesaid，"shallIcallforyou？It’samixedhousehold，Englishmostly——verydecentpeople。"
"No，thankyou。Ishallbepaintingallday。Haven’ttimetoknowthesortofpeoplewhoexpectonetochangeone’sclothes。"
"Asyoulike;ta—to！"And，puffingouthischest，Dawneyvanishedthroughablanketloopedacrossthedoorway。
Harzsetapotofcoffeeonaspirit—lamp，andcuthimselfsomebread。Throughthewindowthefreshnessofthemorningcame;thescentofsapandblossomandyoungleaves;thescentofearth，andthemountainsfreedfromwinter;thenewflightsandsongsofbirds;
alltheodorous，enchanted，restlessSpring。
Theresuddenlyappearedthroughthedoorwayawhiterough—hairedterrierdog，black—markedabouttheface，withshaggytaneyebrows。
HesniffedatHarz，showedthewhitesroundhiseyes，andutteredasharpbark。Ayoungvoicecalled:
"Scruff！Thounaughtydog！"Lightfootstepswereheardonthestairs;fromthedistanceathin，highvoicecalled:
"Greta！Youmustn’tgoupthere！"
Alittlegirloftwelve，withlongfairhairunderawide—brimmedhat，slippedin。
Herblueeyesopenedwide，herfaceflushedup。Thatfacewasnotregular;itscheek—boneswereratherprominent，thenosewasflattish;therewasaboutitanair，innocent，reflecting，quizzical，shy。
"Oh！"shesaid。
Harzsmiled:"Good—morning！Thisyourdog？"
Shedidnotanswer，butlookedathimwithsoftbewilderment;thenrunningtothedogseizedhimbythecollar。
"Scr—ruff！Thounaughtydog—thebaddestdog！"Theendsofherhairfellabouthim;shelookedupatHarz，whosaid:
"Notatall！Letmegivehimsomebread。"
"Ohno！Youmustnot——Iwillbeathim——andtellhimheisbad;thenheshallnotdosuchthingsagain。Nowheissulky;helookssoalwayswhenheissulky。Isthisyourhome？"
"Forthepresent;Iamavisitor。"
"ButIthinkyouareofthiscountry，becauseyouspeaklikeit。"
"Certainly，IamaTyroler。"
"IhavetotalkEnglishthismorning，butIdonotlikeitverymuch—
—because，alsoIamhalfAustrian，andIlikeitbest;butmysister，Christian，isallEnglish。HereisMissNaylor;sheshallbeveryangrywithme。"
Andpointingtotheentrancewitharosy—tippedforefinger，sheagainlookedruefullyatHarz。
Therecameintotheroomwithawalklikethehoppingofabirdanelderly，smalllady，inagreysergedress，withnarrowbandsofclaret—colouredvelveteen;alargegoldcrossdangledfromasteelchainonherchest;shenervouslytwistedherhands，cladinblackkidgloves，ratherwhiteabouttheseams。
Herhairwasprematurelygrey;herquickeyesbrown;hermouthtwistedatonecorner;sheheldherface，kind—looking，butlongandnarrow，rathertooneside，andworeonitalookofapology。Herquicksentencessoundedasifshekeptthemonstrings，andwantedtodrawthembackassoonasshehadletthemforth。
"Greta，howcan，youdosuchthings？Idon’tknowwhatyourfatherwouldsay！IamsureIdon’tknowhowto——soextraordinary——"
"Please！"saidHarz。
"Youmustcomeatonce——soverysorry——soawkward！"Theywerestandinginaring:Harzwithhiseyebrowsworkingupanddown;thelittleladyfidgetingherparasol;Greta，flushedandpouting，hereyesalldewy，twistinganendoffairhairroundherfinger。
"Oh，look！"Thecoffeehadboiledover。Littlebrownstreamstrickledsplutteringfromthepan;thedog，withearslaidbackandtailtuckedin，wentscurryingroundtheroom。Afeelingoffellowshipfellonthematonce。
"Alongthewallisourfavouritewalk，andScruff——soawkward，sounfortunate——wedidnotthinkanyonelivedhere——theshuttersarecracked，thepaintispeelingoffsodreadfully。HaveyoubeenlonginBotzen？Twomonths？Fancy！YouarenotEnglish？YouareTyrolese？ButyouspeakEnglishsowell——thereforsevenyears？
Really？Sofortunate！——ItisGreta’sdayforEnglish。"
MissNaylor’seyesdartedbewilderedglancesattheroofwherethecrossingofthebeamsmadesuchdeepshadows;atthelitterofbrushes，tools，knives，andcoloursonatablemadeoutofpacking—
cases;atthebigwindow，innocentofglass，andflushwiththefloor，whencedangledabitofrustychain——relicofthetimewhentheplacehadbeenastore—loft;hereyeswerehastilyavertedfromanunfnishedfigureofthenude。
Greta，withfeetcrossed，satonacolouredblanket，dabblingherfngerinalittlepoolofcoffee，andgazingupatHarz。Andhethought:’Ishouldliketopaintherlikethat。"Aforget—me—not。"’
Hetookouthischalkstomakeasketchofher。
"Shallyoushowme？"criedoutGreta，scramblingtoherfeet。
"’Will，’Greta——’will’;howoftenmustItellyou？Ithinkweshouldbegoing——itisverylate——yourfather——soverykindofyou，butI
thinkweshouldbegoing。Scruff！"MissNaylorgavethefloortwotaps。Theterrierbackedintoaplastercastwhichcamedownonhistail，andsenthimflyingthroughthedoorway。Gretafollowedswiftly，crying:
"Ach！poorScrufee！"
MissNaylorcrossedtheroom;bowing，shemurmuredanapology，andalsodisappeared。
Harzwasleftalone，hisguestsweregone;thelittlegirlwiththefairhairandtheeyeslikeforget—me—nots，thelittleladywithkindlygesturesandbird—likewalk，theterrier。Helookedroundhim;theroomseemedveryempty。Gnawinghismoustache，hemutteredatthefallencast。
Thentakinguphisbrush，stoodbeforehispicture，smilingandfrowning。Soonhehadforgottenitallinhiswork。
II
Itwasearlymorningfourdayslater，andHarzwasloiteringhomewards。Theshadowsofthecloudspassingacrossthevineswerevanishingoverthejumbledroofsandgreen—toppedspiresofthetown。
Astrongsweetwindwasblowingfromthemountains，therewasastirinthebranchesofthetrees，andflakesofthelateblossomweredriftingdown。Amongstthesoftgreenpodsofakindofpoplarchafersbuzzed，andnumbersoftheirlittlebrownbodieswerestrewnonthepath。
Hepassedabenchwhereagirlsatsketching。Apuffofwindwhirledherdrawingtotheground;Harzrantopickitup。Shetookitfromhimwithabow;but，asheturnedaway，shetorethesketchacross。
"Ah！"hesaid;"whydidyoudothat？"
Thisgirl，whostoodwithabitofthetornsketchineitherhand，wasslightandstraight;andherfaceearnestandserene。ShegazedatHarzwithlarge，clear，greenisheyes;herlipsandchinweredefiant，herforeheadtranquil。
"Idon’tlikeit。"
"Willyouletmelookatit？Iamapainter。"
"Itisn’tworthlookingat，but——ifyouwish——"
Heputthetwohalvesofthesketchtogether。
"Yousee！"shesaidatlast;"Itoldyou。"
Harzdidnotanswer，stilllookingatthesketch。Thegirlfrowned。
Harzaskedhersuddenly:
"Whydoyoupaint？"
Shecoloured，andsaid:
"Showmewhatiswrong。"
"Icannotshowyouwhatiswrong，thereisnothingwrong——butwhydoyoupaint？"
"Idon’tunderstand。"
Harzshruggedhisshoulders。
"You’venobusinesstodothat，"saidthegirlinahurtvoice;"I
wanttoknow。"
"Yourheartisnotinit，"saidHarz。
Shelookedathim，startled;hereyeshadgrownthoughtful。
"Isupposethatisit。Therearesomanyotherthings——"
"Thereshouldbenothingelse，"saidHarz。
Shebrokein:"Idon’twantalwaystobethinkingofmyself。
Suppose——"
"Ah！Whenyoubeginsupposing！"
Thegirlconfrontedhim;shehadtornthesketchagain。
"Youmeanthatifitdoesnotmatterenough，onehadbetternotdoitatall。Idon’tknowifyouareright——Ithinkyouare。"
Therewasthesoundofanervouscough，andHarzsawbehindhimhisthreevisitors——MissNaylorofferinghimherhand;Greta，flushed，withabunchofwildflowers，staringintentlyinhisface;andtheterrier，sniffingathistrousers。
MissNaylorbrokeanawkwardsilence。
"Wewonderedifyouwouldstillbehere，Christian。Iamsorrytointerruptyou——IwasnotawarethatyouknewMr。Herr——"
"Harzismyname——wewerejusttalking"
"Aboutmysketch。Oh，Greta，youdotickle！Willyoucomeandhavebreakfastwithusto—day，HerrHarz？It’sourturn，youknow。"
Harz，glancingathisdustyclothes，excusedhimself。
ButGretainapleadingvoicesaid:"Oh！docome！Scrufflikesyou。
Itissodullwhenthereisnobodyforbreakfastbutourselves。"
MissNaylor’smouthbegantotwist。Harzhurriedlybrokein:
"Thankyou。Iwillcomewithpleasure;youdon’tmindmybeingdirty？"
"Ohno！wedonotmind;thenweshallnoneofuswash，andafterwardsIshallshowyoumyrabbits。"
MissNaylor，movingfromfoottofoot，likeabirdonitsperch，exclaimed:
"Ihopeyouwon’tregretit，notaverygoodmeal——thegirlsaresoimpulsive——suchinformalinvitation;weshallbeveryglad。"
ButGretapulledsoftlyathersister’ssleeve，andChristian，gatheringherthings，ledtheway。
Harzfollowedinamazement;nothingofthiskindhadcomeintohislifebefore。Hekeptshylyglancingatthegirls;and，notingthespeculativeinnocenceinGreta’seyes，hesmiled。Theysooncametotwogreatpoplar—trees，whichstood，likesentinels，oneoneithersideofanunweededgravelwalkleadingthroughlilacbushestoahousepainteddullpink，withgreen—shutteredwindows，andaroofofgreenishslate。Overthedoorinfadedcrimsonletterswerewrittenthewords，"VillaRubein。"
"Thatistothestables，"saidGreta，pointingdownapath，wheresomepigeonsweresunningthemselvesonawall。"UncleNickeepshishorsesthere:CountessandCuckoo——hishorsesbeginwithC，becauseofChris——theyarequitebeautiful。HesayshecoulddrivethemtoKingdom—Comeandtheywouldnotturntheirhair。Bow，andsay’Good—
morning’toourhouse！"
Harzbowed。
"Fathersaidallstrangersshould，andIthinkitbringsgoodluck。"
>FromthedoorstepshelookedroundatHarz，thenranintothehouse。
Abroad，thick—setman，withstiff，brushed—uphair，ashort，brown，bushybeardpartedatthechin，afreshcomplexion，andblueglassesacrossathicknose，cameout，andcalledinabluffvoice:
"Ha！mygooddears，kissmequick——prrt！Howgoesitthenthismorning？Agoodwalk，hein？"Thesoundofmanyloudrapidkissesfollowed。
"Ha，Fraulein，good！"HebecameawareofHarz’sfigurestandinginthedoorway:"UndderHerr？"
MissNaylorhurriedlyexplained。
"Good！Anartist！KommenSieherein，Iamdelight。Youwillbreakfast？Itoo——yes，yes，mydears——Itoobreakfastwithyouthismorning。Ihavethehunter’sappetite。"
Harz，lookingathimkeenly，perceivedhimtobeofmiddleheightandage，stout，dressedinaloosehollandjacket，averywhite，starchedshirt，andbluesilksash;thathelookedparticularlyclean，hadanairofbelongingtoSociety，andexhaledareallyfinearomaofexcellentcigarsandthebesthairdresser’sessences。
Theroomtheyenteredwaslongandratherbare;therewasahugemaponthewall，andbelowitapairofglobesoncrookedsupports，resemblingtwoinflatedfrogserectontheirhindlegs。Inonecornerwasacottagepiano，closetoawriting—tableheapedwithbooksandpapers;thisnook，sacredtoChristian，wasforeigntotherestoftheroom，whichwasarrangedwithsupernaturalneatness。A
tablewaslaidforbreakfast，andthesun—warmedaircameinthroughFrenchwindows。
Themealwentmerrily;HerrPaulvonMorawitzwasneverinsuchspiritsasattable。Wordsstreamedfromhim。ConversingwithHarz，hetalkedofArtaswhoshouldsay:"Onedoesnotclaimtobeaconnoisseur——passibete——still，onehasalittleknowledge，quediable！"Herecommendedhimamaninthetownwhosoldcigarsthatwere"notsoverybad。"Heconsumedporridge，ateanomelette;andbendingacrosstoGretagaveherasoundingkiss，muttering:"Kissmequick！"——anexpressionhehadpickedupinaLondonmusic—hall，longago，andconsideredchic。Heaskedhisdaughters’plans，andheldoutporridgetotheterrier，whorefuseditwithasniff。
"Well，"hesaidsuddenly，lookingatMissNaylor，"hereisagentlemanwhohasnotevenheardournames！"