icon 0
icon TOP UP
rightIcon
icon Reading History
rightIcon
icon Log out
rightIcon
icon Get the APP
rightIcon

The Reverberator

Chapter 10 No.10

Word Count: 2017    |    Released on: 06/12/2017

great canvas. She enjoyed every positive sign that the Proberts took an interest in her, and this was a considerable sy

family as to the merit of the work, and that Margaret, precisely, had gone so far as to say that it might be a masterpiece of tone but didn't make her look like a lady. His father on the other hand had no objection to offer to the character in which it represented her, but he didn't think it well painted. "Regardez-moi ca, et ca, et ca, je vous demande!" he had exclaimed, making little dashes at the

il to him and took much trouble to show him the work he had in hand, dragging out canvases, changing lights, moving him off to see things at the other end of the great room. While the two gentlemen were at a distance Mme. de Cliche expressed to Francie the conviction that she would allow her to see her home: on which Francie replied that she was not going home, but was going somewhere else with Mr. Flack. And she explained, as if it simplified the matter, that this gentleman was a big editor. Her sister-in-law that was to be echoed the term and Francie developed her explanation. He was not the only big editor, but one of the many big editors, of an enormous American paper. He was going to publish an article-as big, as enormous, as all the rest of the business-about her portrait. Gaston knew him perfectly: it was Mr. Flack who had been the cause of Gaston's being presented to her. Mme. de Cliche looked across at him as if the inadequacy of the cause projected an unfavourable light upon an effect hitherto perhaps not exactly measured; she appealed as to whether Francie thought Gaston would like her to drive about Par

" And she sat there swaying her paraso

s. For a few moments after the carriage had taken its easy elastic start they

Mr. Probert's old on

ason in that why she should

me. She doesn't like you to go round

me?" Mr. Flack asked with

er a little. "Oh it's th

em are very base,"

r polished shop-fronts, their balconies, their signs with accented letters, seemed to make a glitter of gilt and crystal as they rose in the sunny air. The colour of everything was coo

ou, since you've

no obligation. We haven't s

lady settle

Francie placidly enough. "I don't

the others

ould you if they had

dn't make much of me, cert

most haughty,"

out?" her friend demande

tell you," the girl cheerfully sig

is cushions and inhaled the pleasant air. "I AM getting something out of this drive, Miss Francie

rsued, looking round him with his hard smile, irrelevantly but sociably: "Yes, these French

ou like them better a

they're worse-I mean the id

like anything, the way

ey talk a

do much else, and all about the que

fe on!" Mr. Flack retur

gingly proceeded, "'ve had most

ld gen

most-it's Mme. de Brecourt. She's great on life, on THEIR life-it's very interes

s very different from America. It's just like a beautiful story-they have

ort of

iche's-" But Francie p

ith assistance. "Do you

ones. That's why one must forgive her if s

n through h

adies better. He flirt

closed over it.

fearfully attractive. And he used to go every day to have tea with

nd of MEAN man," Geo

d. That was one thing they

gainst what

Probert bec

t they call

lls her Margot. Old Mme. de Cliche had a

much!" Mr. Flack permitted himself to guess.

ughter of Mme

old sinner?" the

ie. "She used to be a great friend

o go to te

says he has never been

h 'em!" Mr. Flack chuckled. "

. de Villepreux isn't so nice as her mother. She was brought up wit

h Ma

M. de

ame painted blue by the distance. The confluence of carriages-a sounding stream in which our friends became engaged-rolled into the large avenue leading to the Bois de Boulogne. Mr. Flack evidently enjoyed the scene; he gazed about him at their neighbours, at the villas and gardens on either hand; he took in the prospect of the far-stretching brow

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open