To meet Jacques Beauvais was not at all easy,
Kahn racked his ingenious brain to no purpose. He
knew him by sight, a most elegant person wearing
white silk shirts and tussore silk trousers; a young
man with a handsome, weak face, fair hair, slim
flanks, a jade cigarette case and a mistress. But he
could not very well accost him in the street, nor could
he present himself at the hotel on the grounds that
the celebrated Galeries Kahn would amply repay the
trouble of a visit. And yet, after all, it was the
Galeries Kahn that chanced to come to the help of
their founder.
Beauvais needed some drapery for a background:
'Well, and what have you got?' he demanded crossly,
'I cannot find anything but striped umbrellas in
this town —even a dark table-cloth would do.5
Then glancing about him: 'My God, what horrors!
This shojD did not exist when I was here last. It ought
not to exist now — I think I will burn it!3
Kahn smiled an indulgent, paternal smile: 'Ah,
monsieur, we others we also must live, and to do that
we must give people what they desire. Is this table-
cloth suitable? Its colour is dark, and if monsieur
can manage to hide the border. . . .*
Beauvais frowned, then he laughed, and his laugh
was so youthful and so pleasant a thing that it went
very ill with eyes already somewhat marred by dis-
sipation: 'So you do not admire its fine border?5
he enquired. 'You do not admire your own stock-in-
tradŁ — those exquisite Louis Quinze chairs for
instance?3
Anatole Kahn shrugged deprecating shoulders:
'I will answer that question in just three words. Mon-
sieur asks me if I admire those gilt chairs, and I
answer in just three words — I sell them!5
'Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself/
grinned Beauvais.