his great fortune. Once he had the
nucleus, his genius for making money began to pile dollars up by the
million. Marcel hadn't "found" himself yet. Stanislaws lost sight of him
for years; but after Pietro's mother died, Marcel appeared again, also a
widower, with one little boy. He was as poor as Stanislaws was rich. Yet
he felt in himself the quality to supply the millionaire with something
money had failed to give: social success. He explained his ideas;
Stanislaws had the sense to see that they were good. Marcel "took him
on," so to speak, organized his establishment, arranged magnificent and
original entertainments; got him known and sought for by the right
"set," and so, each man "made" the other.

Marcel started out on his new career with a thumping salary; Stanislaws
advised investments and speculations. Marcel began to grow rich as well
as famous, and might have been happy but for his son. Marcel Junior was
a "caution!" From his early boyhood he was always falling into trouble,
and having to be helped out by his adoring father or the indulgent
Stanislaws, who seemed for a while to care more for young Marcel
Moncourt than for his own high-spirited and independent Pietro. But at
last he grew tired of the constant calls upon his generosity, and
relations became strained.

By this time both the boys were grown up. Pietro's greatest joy was
wandering over the world like a gypsy or a tramp, or anything but a
"tourist." When his father's health failed he was summoned back from a
glorious adventure in Russia, and expected to "settle down." He couldn't
bear to disappoint the old man, and did his best to live up to
expectations; but he was like a young lion caught in the Libyan Desert
and shut in a gilded cage. The people his father wanted him to entertain
bored him to tears. He saw that they valued Justin and Pietro Stanislaws
for what could be got out of them: invitations, dinners, financial
"tips," tours _en automobile_; and there was no reward for which Peter
cared. "Our houses were practically hotels," he said to me, "and our
hearts were utilized as snake hospitals. I might as well have been a
chauffeur for all the choice of guests or destination I had when I drove
my father's friends in our cars. I never did anything I wanted to do,
and I never got any gratitude for doing what they wanted me to do. I
might as well have been a goldfish, swimming round and round in the
same globe, month after month, year after year.