famous person, now, after
years of neglect, loudly acclaimed in London at the moment when, by
fellow-artists, he was seen as defunct. "He no longer lives; he repeats
himself. Ah, it is the peril," Monsieur Belot turned kindly including
eyes on Gregory; "if one is not born anew, continually, the artist dies;
it becomes machinery."

Karen was at home among the Belot's standards. She talked with Belot, of
processes, methods, technique, the talk of artists, not artistic talk.
"_Et la grande Tante?_" he asked her, when they were all seated at a
nondescript meal about a long table of uncovered oak, the children
unpleasantly clamorous and Madame Belot dispensing, from one end,
strange, tepid tea, but excellent chocolate, while Belot, from the
other, sent round plates of fruit and buttered rolls. Karen was laughing
with _la petite Margot_, whom she held in her lap.

"She is coming," said Karen. "At last. In three weeks I shall see her
now. She has been spending the summer in America, you know; among the
mountains."

One of the boys inquired whether there were not danger to Madame von
Marwitz from _les Peaux-Rouges_, and when he was reassured and the
question of buffaloes disposed of Madame Belot was able to make herself
heard, informing Karen that the Lippheims, Franz, Frau Lippheim, Lotta,
Minna and Elizabeth, were to give three concerts in Paris that winter.
"You have not seen them yet, Karen?" she asked. "They have not yet met
Monsieur Jardine?" And when Karen said no, not yet; but that she had
heard from Frau Lippheim that they were to come to London after Paris,
Madame Belot suggested that the young couple might have time now to
travel up to Leipsig and take the Lippheims by surprise. "_Voila de
braves gens et de bons artistes_," said Monsieur Belot.

"You did like my dear Belots," Karen said, as she and Gregory drove
away. She had, since her marriage, grown in perception; Gregory would
have found it difficult, now, to hide ironies and antipathies from her.
Even retrospectively she saw things which at the time she had not seen,
saw, for instance, that the idea of the Belots had not been alluring to
him. He knew, too, that she would have considered dislike of the Belots
as showing defect in him not in them, but cheerfully, if with a touch of
her severity. She had an infinite tolerance for the defects and foibles
of those she loved. He was glad to be able to reply with full sincerity:
"_Ils sont de braves gens et de bons