'
'You're preaching pure Paganism.'
'Oh, I'm not denying I'm a Pagan--in my amateurish way. Let me give
you some asparagus. Do you think a man can be saved who smokes
cigarettes between the courses?'
'Saved?' questioned Andre. 'What have cigarettes to do with a man's
salvation?'
'It's a habit I learned in Russia. I feared it might relate itself in
some way to the Schism.' And he lit a cigarette. 'I'm always a rigid
Catholic when I'm in France.'
'And when you're in England?'
'Oh, one goes in for local colour, for picturesqueness, don't you
know. The Church of England's charmingly overgrown with ivy. And
besides, they're going to disestablish it. One must make the most of
it while it lasts. Tell me--why can you never get decent _brioches_
except in Catholic countries?'
'Is that a fact?'
'I swear it.'
'It's very singular,' said Andre.
'It's only one of the many odd things a fellow learns from
travel.--Hush! Wait a moment.'
He rose hastily, and made a dash with his hand at the tail of a
lizard, that was hanging temptingly out from a bunch of wistaria
leaves. But the lizard was too quick for him. With a whisk, it had
disappeared. He sank back into his chair, sighing. 'It's always like
that. They'll never keep still long enough to let me catch them.
What's the use of a university education and a cosmopolitan culture,
if you can't catch lizards? Do you think they have eyes in the backs
of their heads?'
Andre stared.
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