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Mr. Carteron was one of the last surviving
examples of Frenchmen from before the Great
War, just as they're described in the books: that
lofty bearing, that conquering mustache, that
alfable demcanor, and the obvious sense that
for him, the agile dinner knife and the crack
rifle shot were just two natural ways of being
well mannered. The amusing thing was that
Uncle Anton, the cosmopolitan European, had
won over the Ambassador, as well as the
Ambassador's wife a funny vivacious woman
whose origins, if I remember correctly, were
somewhat more exotic. The Ambassador made a
great impression on me when, in his stentorian
voice, he answered Aunt Edith's question as to
how he was feeling with the declaration. Very
well indeed, my dear friend, since I am seeing
you!* These graces of a bygone century were in
sharp contrast to the laborious piropos of my
Cuban friends, Only much later did I remark
Mr. Carteron's resemblance to Apollinaire
as portrayed by Picasso in the guise of an
academician.