"They were so faithful to our beautiful France! The
_salle_ was almost full!"
"Well," said Mrs. Phillips to herself, "they got there all right, then. I
hope most of them will get back home alive!"
"What a climate!" M. Pelouse was still saying, as he entered the ball-room.
He had not been there before. He ran an appraising eye over the pictures
and said little. But as soon as he learned that some of them were the work
of the late M. Phillips he found words. He led the company through a
tasteful jungle of verbosity, and left the ultimate impression that
Monsieur had been a remarkable man, whether as artist or as collector.
Yet he did not forget to say once more, "What a climate!"
"Is it really bad outside?" asked Pearson. M. Pelouse shrugged his
shoulders. It was _affreux_.
"It is indeed," corroborated Mrs. Phillips: she had spent her moment at the
front door. "Nobody that I can find room for leaves my house tonight." This
meant that Cope and Lemoyne were to occupy the chintz chamber.
M. Pelouse gradually regained himself. Cope interested him. Cope was, in
type, the more "American" of the two new arrivals.
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