Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. ‘You do not believe me?’ ‘I do not. Hollo rumbled in his throat. ” “You are very unbelieving,” Anna said coldly. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. “We must go.
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