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known firm of Forsyte and Treffry； teamen； of the Strand； Constance；
married to a man called Decie； and Margaret； at her father's death
engaged to the curate of the parish； John Devorell； who shortly
afterwards became its rector。 By his marriage with Margaret Treffry
the rector had one child called Christian。 Soon after this he came
into some property； and died； leaving it unfettered to his widow。
Three years went by； and when the child was six years old； Mrs。
Devorell； still young and pretty； came to live in London with her
brother Nicholas。 It was there that she met Paul von Morawitzthe
last of an old Czech family； who had lived for many hundred years on
their estates near Budweiss。 Paul had been left an orphan at the age
of ten； and without a solitary ancestral acre。 Instead of acres； he
inherited the faith that nothing was too good for a von Morawitz。 In
later years his savoir faire enabled him to laugh at faith； but it
stayed quietly with him all the same。 The absence of acres was of no
great consequence； for through his mother； the daughter of a banker
in Vienna； he came into a well…nursed fortune。 It befitted a von
Morawitz that he should go into the Cavalry； but； unshaped for
soldiering； he soon left the Service； some said he had a difference
with his Colonel over the quality of food provided during some
manoeuvres； others that he had retired because his chargers did not
fit his legs； which were； indeed； rather round。
He had an admirable appetite for pleasure； a man…about…town's life
suited him。 He went his genial； unreflecting； costly way in Vienna；
Paris； London。 He loved exclusively those towns； and boasted that he
was as much at home in one as in another。 He combined exuberant
vitality with fastidiousness of palate； and devoted both to the
acquisition of a special taste in women； weeds； and wines； above all
he was blessed with a remarkable digestion。 He was thirty when he
met Mrs。 Devorell； and she married him because he was so very
different from anybody she had ever seen。 People more dissimilar
were never mated。 To Paulaccustomed to stage doorsfreshness；
serene tranquillity； and obvious purity were the baits； he had run
through more than half his fortune； too； and the fact that she had
money was possibly not overlooked。 Be that as it may； he was fond of
her； his heart was soft； he developed a domestic side。
Greta was born to them after a year of marriage。 The instinct of the
〃freeman〃 was； however； not dead in Paul； he became a gambler。 He
lost the remainder of his fortune without being greatly disturbed。
When he began to lose his wife's fortune too things naturally became
more difficult。 Not too much remained when Nicholas Treffry stepped
in； and caused his sister to settle what was left on her daughters；
after providing a life…interest for herself and Paul。 Losing his
supplies； the good man had given up his cards。 But the instinct of
the 〃freeman〃 was still living in his breast； he took to drink。 He
was never grossly drunk； and rarely very sober。 His wife sorrowed
over this new passion； her health； already much enfeebled； soon broke
down。 The doctors sent her to the Tyrol。 She seemed to benefit by
this； and settled down at Botzen。 The following year； when Greta was
just ten； she died。 It was a shock to Paul。 He gave up excessive
drinking； became a constant smoker； and lent full rein to his natural
domesticity。 He was fond of both the girls； but did not at all
understand them； Greta； his own daughter； was his favourite。 Villa
Rubein remained their home； it was cheap and roomy。 Money； since
Paul became housekeeper to himself； was scarce。
About this time Mrs。 Decie； his wife's sister； whose husband had died
in the East； returned to England； Paul invited her to come and live
with them。 She had her own rooms； her own servant； the arrangement
suited Paulit was economically sound； and there was some one always
there to take care of the girls。 In truth he began to feel the
instinct of the 〃freeman〃 rising again within him； it was pleasant to
run over to Vienna now and then； to play piquet at a Club in Gries；
of which he was the shining light； in a word； to go 〃on the tiles〃 a
little。 One could not always mourneven if a woman were an angel；
moreover； his digestion was as good as ever。
The fourth quarter of this Villa was occupied by Nicholas Treffry；
whose annual sojourn out of England perpetually surprised himself。
Between him and his young niece； Christian； there existed； however； a
rare sympathy； one of those affections between the young and old；
which； mysteriously born like everything in life； seems the only end
and aim to both； till another feeling comes into the younger heart。
Since a long and dangerous illness； he had been ordered to avoid the
English winter； and at the commencement of each spring he would
appear at Botzen； driving his own horses by easy stages from the
Italian Riviera； where he spent the coldest months。 He always stayed
till June before going back to his London Club； and during all that
time he let no day pass without growling at foreigners； their habits；
food； drink； and raiment； with a kind of big dog's growling that did
nobody any harm。 The illness had broken him very much； he was
seventy； but looked more。 He had a servant； a Luganese； named
Dominique； devoted to him。 Nicholas Treffry had found him overworked
in an hotel； and had engaged him with the caution： 〃Lookhere；
Dominique！ I swear！〃 To which Dominique； dark of feature； saturnine
and ironical； had only replied： 〃Tres biens； M'sieur！〃
III
Harz and his host sat in leather chairs； Herr Paul's square back was
wedged into a cushion； his round legs crossed。 Both were smoking；
and they eyed each other furtively； as men of different stamp do when
first thrown together。 The young artist found his host extremely new
and disconcerting； in his presence he felt both shy and awkward。
Herr Paul； on the other hand； very much at ease； was thinking
indolently：
'Good…looking young fellowcomes of the people； I expect； not at all
the manner of the world； wonder what he talks about。'
Presently noticing that Harz was looking at a photograph； he said：
〃Ah！ yes！ that was a woman！ They are not to be found in these days。
She could dance； the little Coralie！ Did you ever see such arms？
Confess that she is beautiful； hein？〃
〃She has individuality；〃 said Harz。 〃A fine type！〃
Herr Paul blew out a cloud of smoke。
〃Yes；〃 he murmured； 〃she was fine all over！〃 He had dropped his
eyeglasses； and his full brown eyes； with little crow's…feet at the
corners； wandered from his visitor to his cigar。
'He'd be like a Satyr if he wasn't too clean；' thought Harz。 'Put
vine leaves in his hair； paint him asleep； with his hands crossed；
so！'
〃When I am told a person has individuality；〃 Herr Paul was saying in
a rich and husky voice； 〃I generally expect boots that bulge； an
umbrella of improper colour； I expect a creature of 'bad form' as
they say in England； who will shave some days and some days will not
shave； who sometimes smells of India…rubber； and sometimes does not
smell； which is discouraging！〃
〃You do not approve of individuality？〃 said Harz shortly。
〃Not if it means doing； and thinking； as those who know better do not
do； or think。〃
〃And who are those who know better？〃
〃Ah！ my dear； you are asking me a riddle？ Well； thenSociety； men
of birth； men of recognised position； men above eccentricity； in a
word； of reputation。〃
Harz looked at him fixedly。 〃Men who haven't the courage of their
own ideas； not even the courage to smell of India…rubber； men who
have no desires； and so can spend all their time making themselves
flat！〃
Herr Paul drew out a red silk handkerchief and wiped his beard。 〃I
assure you； my dear；〃 he said； 〃it is easier to be flat； it is more
respectable to be flat。 Himmel！ why not； then； be flat？〃
〃Like any common fellow？〃
〃Certes； like any common fellowlike me； par exemple！〃 Herr Paul
waved his hand。 When he exercised unusual tact； he always made use
of a French expression。
Harz flushed。 Herr Paul followed up his victory。 〃Come； come！〃 he
said。 〃Pass me my men of repute！ que diable！ we are not anarchists。〃
〃Are you sure？〃 said Harz。
Herr Paul twisted his moustache。 〃I beg your pardon；〃 he said
slowly。 But at this moment the door was opened； a rumbling voice
remarked： 〃Morning； Paul。 Who's your visitor？〃 Harz saw a tall；
bulky figure in the doorway。
〃Come in；〃' called out Herr Paul。 〃Let me present to you a new
acquaintance； an artist： Herr HarzMr。 Nicholas Treffry。 Psumm
bumm！ All this introducing is dry work。〃 And going to the sideboard
he poured out three glasses of a light； foaming beer。
Mr。 Treffry waved it from him： 〃Not for me；〃 he said： 〃Wish I could！
They won't let