Canalis, by nature over-strained and artificial, could not
change his form; in fact, he had had time to grow stiff in the mould
into which the duchess had poured him; moreover, he was thoroughly
Parisian, or, if you prefer it, truly French. The Parisian is amazed
that everything everywhere is not as it in Paris; the Frenchman, as it
is in France. Good taste, on the contrary, demands that we adapt
ourselves to the customs of foreigners without losing too much of our
own character,--as did Alcibiades, that model of a gentleman. True
grace is elastic; it lends itself to circumstances; it is in harmony
with all social centres; it wears a robe of simple material in the
streets, noticeable only by its cut, in preference to the feathers and
flounces of middle-class vulgarity. Now Canalis, instigated by a woman
who loved herself much more than she loved him, wished to lay down the
law and be, everywhere, such as he himself might see fit to be. He
believed he carried his own public with him wherever he went,--an error
shared by several of the great men of Paris.
While the poet made a studied and effective entrance into the salon of
the Chalet, La Briere slipped in behind him like a person of no
account.
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