as a mere boy, and with
buoyant sensations astir in him, life had begun over again.

Any morning between eleven and twelve Bulstrode might have been seen in
the Bois de Boulogne briskly walking along the Avenue des Acacias, his
well-filled chest thrown out, his step light and assured; cane in hand,
a boutonniere tinging the lapel of his coat; immaculate and fresh as a
rose, he exhaled good-humor, kindliness, and well-being.

From their traps and motors charming women bowed and smiled, the _fine
fleur_ and the _beau monde_ greeted him cordially.

"Regardez moi ce bon Bulstrode qui se promene," if it were a Frenchman,
or, "There's dear old Jimmy Bulstrode!" if he were recognized by a
compatriot.

Bulstrode was rather slight of build, yet with an evident strength of
body that indicated a familiarity with exercise, a healthful habit of
sport and activity. His eyes, clear-sighted and strong, looked through
the medium of no glass happily and naively on the world. Many years
before his hair had begun to turn gray, and had not nearly finished the
process; it grew thickly, and was quite dark about his ears and on his
brow. Having gained experience and kept his youth, he was as rare and
delightful as fine wine--as inspiring as spring. It was his heart
(Mrs. Falconer said) that made him so, his good, gentle, generous
heart!--and she should know. His fastidiousness in point of dress, and
his good taste kept him close to elegance of attire.

"You turn yourself out, Jimmy, on every occasion," she had said, "as if
you were on the point of meeting the woman you loved." And Bulstrode
had replied that such consistent hopefulness should certainly be
ultimately rewarded.

He gave the impression of a man who in his youth starts out to take a
long and pleasant journey and finds the route easy, the taverns
agreeable, and the scenes all the guide-book promised. Midway--(he had
turned the page of forty)--midway, pausing to look back, Bulstrode saw
the experiences of his travels in their sunny valleys, full of goodly
memories, and the future, to his sweet hopefulness, promised to be a
pleasant journey to the end.

During the time that he spent in Paris every pet charity in the
American colony took advantage of the philanthropic Mr. Bulstrode's
passing through the city, and came to him to be set upon its feet, and
every pretty woman with an interest, hobby, or scheme came as well to
this generous millionaire, told him about her fad