"My dear man, you have it." There was finally something in his felicity almost embarrassing and oppressive--Strether had begun to fidget under it for the open air and the erect posture.

He had signed to the waiter that he wished to pay, and this transaction took some moments, during which he thoroughly felt, while he put down money and pretended--it was quite hollow--to estimate change, that Chad's higher spirit, his youth, his practice, his paganism, his felicity, his assurance, his impudence, whatever it might be, had consciously scored a success.

Well, that was all right so far as it went; his sense of the thing in question covered our friend for a minute like a veil through which--as if he had been muffled--he heard his interlocutor ask him if he mightn't take him over about five.
"Over" was over the river, and over the river was where Madame de Vionnet lived, and five was that very afternoon.

They got at last out of the place--got out before he answered.

He lighted, in the street, a cigarette, which again gave him more time.