human
My husband opens his door, the window too. Yours keeps his door shut and the blinds over the window. Jacques gives all, like a child. Your husband seems to give sometimes; but he really gives nothing.
gpt
Of course, the English temperament is very different from the French,
human
Very!
gpt
You ought to go to America, said Madame Sennier.
human
Nobody knows what real life is who has not seen New York in the season. Paris, London, they are sleepy villages in comparison with New York.
gpt
I should like to see it, replied Charmian.
human
But we have nothing to take us there, no reason to go.
gpt
And Claude and I are not millionaires.
human
But some day you will surely go.
gpt
There doesn't seem any prospect of it,
human
D'you remember meeting a funny little man called Crayford in my house one night, an impresario?
gpt
Yes, I believe I do--a man with a tiny beard.
human
Like a little inquiring goat's! D'you know that he's searching the world to find some composer to run against Jacques? Isn't it so, Henriette?
gpt
So they say in New York, said Madame Sennier.
human
I wish he could find one; then perhaps he would leave off bothering us with absurd proposals. And I'm sure there is plenty of room for some more shining lights. I told Crayford if he worried Jacques any more I would unearth someone for him. He doesn't know where to look.
gpt
But surely--
human
Why do you think that?
gpt
Because he began his search with England,
human
Well, really--Henriette!
gpt
Ought I to apologize? said Madame Sennier, turning to Charmian.
human
When art is in question I believe in speaking the plain truth. Oh, I know your husband is by way of writing an opera! But, of course, one sees that--well, you are here in this delicious little house, having what the Americans call a lovely time, enjoying North Africa, listening to the fountain, walking, as my old baby says, among passion-flowers, and playing about with that joke from the Quartier Latin, Armand Gillier. _Mais, ma chère, ce n'est pas sérieux!_ One has only to look at your interesting husband, to see him in the African _milieu_, to see that. And, of course, one realizes at once that you see through it all! A pretty game! If one is well off one can afford it. Jacques and I starved; but it was quite right that we should. The English talent is not for opera. The Te Deum, the cathedral service, the oratorio in one form or another, in fact the thing with a sacred basis, that is where the English strength lies. It is in the blood. But opera! Her shoulders went up.
gpt
Ah, here they come! Jacques, my cabbage, you are to be petted for the last time! Here are your syrups.
human
Did they ever nearly starve?
gpt
Henriette thinks so, I believe. Perhaps that is why Jacques is eating all your biscuits now.