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this by itself; all must help, but someone must begin, and the voice of truth must be heard

everywhere. Leon Blum spoke tirelessly in the Chamber, he wrote daily editorials for Le

Populaire, he traveled here and there, pleading and explaining. He would do it at the luncheon

table of a friend, and then stop and apologize, smiling and saying that politics ruined one's

manners as well as one's character.

He was a tall slender man with the long slim hands of an artist; a thin, sensitive face, an

abundant mustache which made him a joy to the caricaturists of the French press. He had

been through campaigns of incredible bitterness; for to the partisans of the French right it was

adding insult to injury when their foes put up a Jew as their spokesman. It made the whole

movement of the workers a part of the international Jewish conspiracy, and lent venom to all

Fascist attacks upon France. "Perhaps, after all, it is a mistake that I try to serve the cause,"

said the statesman.

He was ill content with the showing which his party had made at the polls. A gain of

seventeen was not enough to save the day. He said that immediate and bold action was

required if Europe was to be spared the horrors of another war. He said that the German

Republic could not survive without generous help from France. He said that the "Cabinet of

the Barons" was a natural answer to the cabinet of the bigot, Poincare, and to that of the cheat,

Laval. Blum was standing for real disarmament of all the nations, including France, and he had

been willing to split his party rather than to yield on that issue. Said Irma, after the luncheon:

"We won't ever invite him and the de Bruynes at the same time!"

XI

From the time her decision was taken to rent the palace, Irma's mind was occupied with the

problem of a party which tout Paris would attend; a sort of housewarming—Lanny said that a

building of that size, made of white marble, would require a lot of cordiality to affect its

temperature. His wife wanted to think of something original. Parties were so much alike. People

ate your food and drank your wine, often too much of it; they danced, or listened to a singer

they had heard many times at the opera and been bored by. Lanny quoted an old saying:

"Gabble, gobble, git."

Irma insisted that tout Paris would expect something streamlined and shiny from America.

Couldn't they think of something? The husband tried various suggestions: a performing

elephant from the circus, a troop of Arabian acrobats he had seen in a cabaret—their black hair

was two feet long and when they did several somersaults in one leap they brought down the

house. "Don't be silly, dear," said the wife.

He thought of an idea to end all ideas. "Offer a prize of a hundred thousand francs for the

most original suggestion for a party. That will start them talking as nothing ever did." He

meant it for burlesque, but to his amusement Irma was interested; she talked about it,

speculating as to what sort of suggestions she would get, and so on; she wasn't satisfied until she

had asked Emily, and been assured that it might be a good idea for Chicago, but not for Paris.

Even after Irma dropped it, she had a hankering, and said: "I believe my father would have

done it. He didn't let people frighten him away from things."

It would have to be a conventional soiree. The young Robins would come and play—a

distinguished thing to furnish the talent from your own family, and have it the best.

Fortunately the Paris newspapers did not report Communist doings—unless it was a riot or

something—therefore few persons knew that Hansi had assisted in electing Zhess Block-less to

the Chamber of Deputies. (Already that body had met, and the new member, refusing to be

intimidated by the splendid surroundings, had put on his old phonograph record, this time

with a loud-speaker attachment, so that his threats against the mur d'argent had been heard

as far as Tunisia and Tahiti, French Indo-China and Guiana.)

Lanny was fascinated to observe his young wife functioning in the role which she had chosen

for herself. She was not yet twenty-four, but she was a queen, and had found out how queens

conduct themselves. No worry, no strain, no sense of uncertainty. Being an American, she could

without sacrifice of dignity ask the chef or the butler how things were done in France; then

she would say whether or not they were going to be done that way in her home. She spoke with

quiet decision, and the servants learned quickly to respect her; even the new Controleur-

General was impressed, and said to Lanny: "By heck, she's a whiz!"

When the great day arrived, she didn't get excited, like many hostesses, and wear herself out

so that she couldn't enjoy her own triumph; no chain smoking of cigarettes, no coffee or

nips of brandy to keep her going. Nor did she put responsibilities off on her mother or

mother-in-law; that would be a bad precedent. She said: "This is my home, and I want to learn

to run it." She had thought everything out, and had lists prepared; she summoned the

servitors before her and checked off what had been done and gave them their final

instructions. She had learned to judge them in two or three weeks. Jerry was a "brick," and

anything he undertook was just as good as done. Ambroise, the butler, was conscientious, but

had to be flattered; Simone, the housekeeper, was fidgety and lacking in authority; Feathers

had always been a fool and would get rattled in any emergency. Having checked everything,

Irma took a long nap in the afternoon.

At about nine in the evening the shiny limousines began rolling up before the palace, and a

stream of immaculate guests ascended the white marble stairs, covered with a wide strip of red

velvet carpet. It was the cream of that international society which made its headquarters in

the world's center of fashion. Many of them had met Irma in New York or on the Riviera, in

Berlin, London, Vienna, or Rome. Others were strangers, invited because of their position; they

came because of curiosity as to a much-talked-about heiress. They would see what sort of show

she put on, and were prepared to lift an eyebrow and whisper behind a fan over the slightest

wrong detail.

But there wasn't much to quarrel with. The young Juno was good to look at, and the best

artists had been put to work on her. The prevailing fashions favored her; they had gone back

to natural lines, with high waists. The décolletage for backs was lower; in fact, where the back

of the dress might have been there was nothing but Irma; but it was enough. Her dark brown

hair was in masses of curls, and that looked young and wholesome. Her gown of pale blue silk

chiffon appeared simple, but had cost a lot, and the same was true of her long rope of pearls.

The daughter of the utilities king was naturally kind; she liked people, and made them feel it.

She did the honors with no visible coaching. She had taken the trouble to learn who people were,

and if she had met them before, she remembered where, and had something friendly to say. If

they were strangers, she assumed that they were welcoming her to Paris and thanked them for

their courtesy. At her side stood a good-looking young fellow, bon garçon, son of his father—

Budd Gunmakers, you know, quite a concern in America. In the background was a phalanx of

older women: the two mothers, large and splendid, and Mrs. Chattersworth, whom everyone

knew. In short, tout comme il faut, viewed by tout le monde.

XII

A modest-appearing young Jewish violinist came forward, and with his wife accompanying

him played Cesar Franck's violin sonata; French music, written in Paris by a humble organist

and teacher who had lived obscurely among them until an omnibus had killed him; now they

honored him, and applauded his interpreter. As an encore Hansi played Hubay's Hejre Katy,

fiery and passionate; when they applauded again, he smiled and bowed, but did not play any

more. His sister-in-law, Rahel Robin, whom nobody had ever heard of, came to the piano, and

with Lanny Budd accompanying and her husband playing a clarinet obbligato, sang a couple of

Provencal peasant songs which she herself had arranged. She had a pleasing voice, and it was a

sort of homelike family affair; you wondered if they were showing themselves off, or if they were

saving money.

Certainly they hadn't saved on the food and drink, and that is important at any party. In the

ball-room a smart colored band played jazz, and in the other rooms the young wife and the

young husband moved here and there, chatting with this one and that. Madame Hellstein, of

the international banking-house, with her daughter Olivie, now Madame de Broussailles; Lanny

had told his wife: "I might have married her, if Rosemary hadn't written me a note at the

critical moment!" So, naturally, Irma was interested to look her over. A lovely daughter of

Jerusalem—but she was growing stout! "These Jewish women all do," thought Irma.

And then one of Zaharoff's married daughters, who also had looked upon the son of Budd as

a parti. And old M. Faure, rich importer of wines and olive-oil who had bought paintings of

nude ladies from Zoltan. A traveling maharajah who bought ladies—but from another dealer! A

Russian grand duke in exile; a crown prince from one of the Scandinavian lands; a couple of

literary lions, so that you wouldn't appear to be snobbish. Lanny had been a dear and hadn't

asked for any Reds or Pinks; they wouldn't appreciate the honor, he said.

Irma wasn't clever; but that is a quality for the "outs," whereas she was among the "ins." She

was serene and gracious, and as she moved among this elegant company little shivers of

happiness ran over her and she thought: "I am getting away with it; it is truly distingué"— this

being one of the first French words she had learned. Lanny, thirty-two and world weary, thought:

"How hard they all try to keep up a front and to be what they pretend!" He thought: "All the

world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players"—these being among the first words

of Shakespeare he had learned.

He knew much more about these players than his wife did. He had been hearing stories from

his father and his business friends, from his mother and her smart friends, from his Red uncle,

from Blum and Longuet and other Pinks. This lawyer for the Comité des Forges who had all

the secrets of la haute finance hidden in his skull; this financier, paymaster for the big banks, who

had half the members of the Radical party on his list; this publisher who had taken the Tsar's

gold before the war and now was a director of Skoda and Schneider-Creusot! Who would envy

these men their stage roles? The whole show was tolerable to the players only because of the

things they didn't know, or which they thrust into the back of their minds. Lanny Budd,

treading the boards, playing acceptably his part as prince consort, enjoyed it with one-half his

mind, while the other half wondered: how many of his guests could bear to dance if they

knew what would be happening to them ten years from now?

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