Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/149

 However that might be, it was the quality that had saved the Countess from the gutter, Campaspe realized.

It soon became evident that Madame Nattatorrini was fortunate only in appearance. In other respects she was a pathetic, old woman, as restless as the Wandering Jew, always searching and never finding. The undiscovered secret of perpetual motion might, after all, be lust. Why had no inventor ever contrived to enslave this terrifying force, to turn it to practical account? There was not, to be sure, more than a hint of this vehement, unsatisfied desire in the actual words used by the Countess in speaking, but it was easy for Campaspe to look through the nervous, the almost shrill, commonplaces of what was said into the harassed soul of senile agony and longing.

Paris is so tiresome! the Countess was complaining, after an extended account of her prolonged argument with the customs officials. I felt I could bear it no longer. I was dying for a change! She threw out her arms and tossed her head. Would New York, I wondered, offer me what I wanted? I have heard so much about the post-war gaieties here. Some of my friends have told me that it is the most brilliant city in the world today. I wanted to try it. Shall we lunch up here? I don't feel very fit today, not well enough to face a crowd in the restaurant. Alceste, nous voulons dejeuner ici. But, she continued, without a break, it is so