She loved dress, all the vanities, but she had something above it all--an
imaginative mind, certain of whose faculties had been sharpened to a fine
edge of cleverness and wit. For she was but twenty-three; with the logic
of a woman of fifty, without its setness and lack of elasticity. She
went straight for the hearts of things, while yet she glittered upon the
surface. This was why Valmond interested her--not as a man, a physical
personality, but as a mystery to be probed, discovered. Sentiment?
Coquetry? Not with him. That for less interesting men, she said to
herself. Why should a point or two of dress and manners affect her
unpleasantly? She ought to be just, to remember that there was a touch
of the fantastic, of the barbaric, in all genius.
Was he a genius? For an instant she almost thought he was, when she saw
the people make way for him to pass out of the church, as though he were
a great personage, Parpon trotting behind him. He carried himself with
true appreciation of the incident, acknowledging more by look than by
sign this courtesy.
"Upon my word," she said, "he has them in his pocket." Then,
unconsciously plagiarising Parpon: "Prince or barber--a toss-up!"
Outside, many had gathered round Medallion. The auctioneer, who liked
the unique thing and was not without tact, having the gift of humour,
took on himself the office of inquisitor, even as there rose again little
snatches of "Vive Napoleon" from the crowd.
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