usual little tables and chairs on the quay, the muslin curtains behind
the glazed front, the general sense of sawdust and of drippings of
watery beer. The place was subdued to stillness, but not extinguished,
by the lateness of the hour; no vehicles passed, only now and then a
light Parisian foot. Beyond the parapet they could hear the flow of the
Seine. Nick Dormer said it made him think of the old Paris, of the great
Revolution, of Madame Roland, _quoi_! Gabriel said they could have
watery beer but were not obliged to drink it. They sat a long time; they
talked a great deal, and the more they said the more the unsaid came up.
Presently Nash found occasion to throw out: "I go about my business like
any good citizen--that's all."

"And what is your business?"

"The spectacle of the world."

Nick laughed out. "And what do you do with that?"

"What does any one do with spectacles? I look at it. I see."

"You're full of contradictions and inconsistencies," Nick however
objected. "You described yourself to me half an hour ago as an apostle
of beauty."

"Where's the inconsistency? I do it in the broad light of day, whatever
I do: that's virtually what I meant. If I look at the spectacle of the
world I look in preference at what's charming in it. Sometimes I've to
go far to find it--very likely; but that's just what I do. I go far--as
far as my means permit me. Last year I heard of such a delightful little
spot; a place where a wild fig-tree grows in the south wall, the outer
side, of an old Spanish city. I was told it was a deliciously brown
corner--the sun making it warm in winter. As soon as I could I went
there."

"And what did you do?"

"I lay on the first green grass--I liked it."

"If that sort of thing's all you accomplish you're not encouraging."

"I accomplish my happiness--it seems to me that's something. I have
feelings, I have sensations: let me tell you that's not so common. It's
rare to have them, and if you chance to have them it's rare not to be
ashamed of them. I go after them--when I judge they won't hurt any one."

"You're lucky to have money for your travelling expenses," said Nick.

"No doubt, no doubt; but I do it very cheap. I take my stand on my
nature, on my fortunate character. I'm not ashamed of it, I don't think
it's so horrible, my character. But we've so befogged and befouled the
whole question of liberty, of spontaneity, of good humour and
inclination and enjoyment, that there's n