aised. And
then she remarked in a hoarse and musical tone, 'You English?' I said in
some surprise that I was and asked if they spoke it. She said 'Why,
sure,' and we all laughed.

"Surprising? Well, yes, it was. Because the intonation was not English
at all, but American. It was like reading a book in French and Italian
and coming suddenly upon a sentence written in italics, in one's own
tongue. The very isolation of it, adrift in a waste of partially
intelligible expressions, doubles the luminous emphasis of it. I looked
at them in astonishment, and they looked at each other and laughed
again. And then they led the way into the house.

"They were very much alike. That is to say, they resembled the portraits
of the same handsome woman at the ages of thirteen, eighteen, and
thirty-five. They were mother and daughters. And when I said I was
looking for a Miss Macedoine, they uttered exclamations.

"'Her father--he lives in the next house,' they said.

"'I have heard,' I remarked, 'of a family named--what was it?--Sarafov.'
And they nodded with animation. 'You got it,' said the elder girl. 'This
is mother, Mrs. Sarafov. I'm Pollyni, and my sister here is Olga. Did
Miss Macedoine tell you about it?'

"'No,' I said, 'I heard in a round-about way. But tell me, where is
she?'

"They looked at each other. Mrs. Sarafov spoke.

"'Are you the gentleman on the ship...?' I nodded. 'Well, I guess we can
tell you. I suppose you know how she's fixed.' I nodded again. 'Well,
she's got an apartment in the town. If you like we'll send a message to
her, but she wouldn't be able to get here much before twelve o'clock.
Perhaps you'd better call to-morrow. Afternoons she's free, you
understand.'

"But of course what I was thinking about at that particular moment was
the problem of the Sarafovs themselves. It was simple enough. They had
emigrated to New York some years before, Sarafov taking his wife and two
young children to make his fortune in the Golden Country beyond the sea.
Not much, according to our standards, no doubt, but a comfortable
competence in Turkey where living was so cheap. So they had come back
and settled in their native town, in the Frank Quarter, while Sarafov
_pere_ continued for a year or so longer his accumulation of dollars.
'Yes,' said Mrs. Sarafov. 'We liked America all right, after we got used
to their ways, but this country's pretty good, too. And it's freer
here,' she added, reflectively. This was so as