[15] A blot on Mr. Budd’s MS. here makes it doubtful whether this should not read “watchword,” “catchword,” or even “patchwork.” (LIT. EXEC.) But so hectic a life could hardly last. Although they ate their meals in the _chic_est restaurants, and their hotel was the largest and most replete with _les conforts home_ in all the Gay City, Gaveston found himself beset with _ennui_. He felt very surely that a chapter in his life was drawing to a close; new interests would soon be clamorous for treatment. Besides, what had originally enchanted him in his companion now began to fray his nerves. It was distressing to find that Lord Vivian’s only idea of conversation was to ask questions. At last he felt driven to force a scene. “_Dans la longue course_,” complained Gav one morning over their _chocolat_, “_la luxure devient fatiguante_.” Lord Vivian looked at him not without anxiety, and turned the talk on to other lines. “_Vous manquez vos âgés amis à Oxford?_” he asked. “_Possiblement_,” Gaveston’s voice was cutting. “_Quel est votre chef ami à Oxford?_” “_Réellement, je ne connais pas._” “_S’il vous plaît, dites à moi_,” Lord Vivian implored. “_Vous me faites fatigué. Vous êtes trop curieux._” The nobleman was touched to the quick. “_Je pensais que vous me trouviez très plaisant_,” he said. “_Non à tout_,” was Gaveston’s answer. He was horribly bored, and could not restrain himself from telling his host so. “_Vous me forez terriblement._” And so they parted. But Gaveston soon recovered his mastery of English. [Illustration: “NON À TOUT,” WAS GAVESTON’S ANSWER] BOOK II APEX CHAPTER IX ἘΚΛΟΓΟΣ A fresh determination, a renewed conviction of his destiny, filled Gaveston to overflowing when he returned to Oxford at April’s end. This term, he decided, was to be a revelation. He would at last show Oxford what Oxford really should be. And that was not what was generally supposed, he thought, turning over in his mind the various attitudes which existed. That of the dons, for instance (except, perhaps, Mongo), and that of the miserable exhibitioners and demies and postmasters in the less significant colleges: they, poor bats and moles, thought of Oxford as a place of learning! “How provincial!” Gav laughed aloud. What did _they_ learn with their concepts and their paradigms, their statutes and their algebra? He knew that in a se’nnight he lived more than they in all their pitiful existence. Three years of profitless study, one week of examination, and fifty years of the Civil Service, or, equally pathetic, of the mumbling, vegetable senescence of tutor or of don! Was that Life? Or the rowing men? What of them, denying themselves half the pleasures of Youth and doubling their consumption of steak in their pettifogging pursuit of that emptiest of honoraria, a blue? They were on a righter track, to be sure, but what a motive! And what an unconsciousness!