and he was a man full of life and vigor, who rather enjoyed doing
things for himself. He kept me supplied with money far beyond what
ordinary wages would have amounted to. For the first two weeks we were
together almost constantly, seeing the sights, sights old to him, but
from which he seemed to get new pleasure in showing them to me. During
the day we took in the places of interest, and at night the theatres
and cafés. This sort of life appealed to me as ideal, and I asked him
one day how long he intended to stay in Paris. He answered: "Oh, until
I get tired of it." I could not understand how that could ever happen.
As it was, including several short trips to the Mediterranean, to
Spain, to Brussels, and to Ostend, we did remain there fourteen or
fifteen months. We stayed at the Hôtel Continental about two months
of this time. Then my millionaire took apartments, hired a piano, and
lived almost the same life he lived in New York. He entertained a
great deal, some of the parties being a good deal more blasé than the
New York ones. I played for the guests at all of them with an effect
which to relate would be but a tiresome repetition to the reader. I
played not only for the guests, but continued, as I used to do in New
York, to play often for the host when he was alone. This man of the
world, who grew weary of everything and was always searching for
something new, appeared never to grow tired of my music; he seemed
to take it as a drug. He fell into a habit which caused me no little
annoyance; sometimes he would come in during the early hours of the
morning and, finding me in bed asleep, would wake me up and ask me to
play something. This, so far as I can remember, was my only hardship
during my whole stay with him in Europe.

After the first few weeks spent in sight-seeing I had a great deal of
time left to myself; my friend was often I did not know where. When
not with him, I spent the day nosing about all the curious nooks and