“I thought about all this as I watched them light the gas, feeling my isolated distress increase as the shadows fell. What was I going to do after dinner? I was alone, entirely alone, and lamentably lonesome.
“A big man came in, seated himself at a neighbouring table, and commanded in a formidable voice:
“ ‘Waiter, my bitters.’
“The ‘my’ in the phrase sounded like the report of a cannon. I understood immediately that everything in existence was his, belonged to him and not to any other, that he had his character, and, by Jove! his appetite, his trousers, his no matter what, after his own fashion, absolutely, and more completely than anybody else in the world. He looked about him with a satisfied air. They brought him his bitters and he called:
“ ‘My paper.’
“I asked myself: ‘Which is his paper, I wonder?’ The name of that would certainly reveal to me his opinions, his theories, his hobbies, and his nature.
“The waiter brought the Temps. I was surprised. Why the Temps, a grave, dull, doctrinal, heavy paper? I thought:
“ ‘So he is a wise man, of serious ways, regular habits, in short, a good citizen.’
“He placed his gold eyeglasses on his nose, turned around and, before commencing to read, cast another glance all around the room. He noticed me and immediately began to look at me in a persistent, uneasy fashion. I was on the point of asking him the reason for his attention, when he cried out from where he sat:
“ ‘By Jove, if it is not Gontran Lardois!’
“I answered: ‘Yes, sir, you are not mistaken.’
“Then he got up brusquely and came towards me with outstretched hands.
“ ‘Ah! my old friend, how are you?’ asked he.
“My greeting was constrained, as I did not recognize him at all. Finally I stammered:
“ ‘Why—very well—and you?’
“He began to laugh: ‘I bet you do not know me.’
“ ‘No, not quite—It seems to me—however—’
“He tapped me on the shoulder:
“ ‘There, there! Don’t try to fool me. I am Patience, Robert Patience, your chum, your comrade.’
“I recognized him. Yes, Robert Patience, my comrade at college. It was he. I pressed the hand he extended to me and said:
“ ‘Everything going well with you?’
“ ‘With me? Like a charm.’
“His laugh rang with triumph. He inquired:
“ ‘What has brought you here?’
“I explained to him that I was an inspector of finances, making the rounds.
“He replied, observing my badge: ‘Then you are successful?’
“I replied: ‘Yes, rather; and you?’
“ ‘Oh! I? Very, very!’
“ ‘What are you doing now?’
“ ‘I am in business.’
“ ‘Then you are making money?’
“ ‘Lots of it. I am rich. But, come to lunch with me tomorrow at noon, No. 17 Rue du Coqqui-chante; then you will see my place.’
“He appeared to hesitate a second, then continued:
“ ‘You are still the good pal you used to be?’
“ ‘Yes—I hope so.’
“ ‘Not married?’
“ ‘No.’
“ ‘So much the better. And you are still fond of a little beer and skittles?’
“I commenced to find him deplorably commonplace. I answered, nevertheless: ‘Yes.’
“ ‘And pretty girls?’
“ ‘Yes, certainly.’
“He began to laugh, with a good, hearty laugh:
“ ‘So much the better, so much the better,’ said he. ‘You recall our first night out at Bordeaux, when we had supper at Roupie’s? Ha! what a night!’
“I did remember that spree; and the memory of it amused me. Other facts were brought to mind, and still others. One would say:
“ ‘Do you remember the time we shut up the fawn in old Latoque’s cellar?’
“And he would laugh, striking his fist upon the table, repeating:
“ ‘Yes—yes—yes—and you remember the face of the professor of geography, M. Marin, when we sent off a cracker on the map of the world just as he was orating on the principal volcanoes of the earth?’
“Then suddenly, I asked him:
“ ‘And you, are you married?’
“He cried: ‘For ten years, my dear fellow, and I have four children, most astonishing kids; but you will see them and their mother.’
“We were talking loudly; the neighbours were looking around at us in astonishment. Suddenly my friend looked at his watch, a chronometer as large as a turnip, and cried out:
“ ‘Heavens! what a nuisance, but I shall have to leave you; I am not free this evening.’
“He rose, took both my hands and shook them as if he wished to break off my arms, and said: ‘Tomorrow at noon, you remember?’
“ ‘All right.’
“I passed the morning working at the General-Treasurer’s. He wished to keep me for luncheon, but I told him that I had an appointment with a friend. As he was going out, he accompanied me. I asked him:
“ ‘Do you know where the Rue du Coq-quichante is?’
“ ‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘it is five minutes from here. As I have nothing to do, I will conduct you there.’
“And we set out. Soon, I noticed the street we were looking for. It was wide, pretty enough, on the extreme outskirts of the town. I looked at the houses and perceived number 17. It was a kind of hotel with a garden at the back. The front, ornamented with frescoes in the Italian fashion, appeared to me in bad taste. There were goddesses hanging to urns, and others whose secret beauties a cloud concealed. Two stone Cupids held up the number.
“I said to the Treasurer: ‘Here is where I am going.’
“And I extended my hand by way of leaving him. He made a brusque and singular gesture, but said nothing, pressing the hand I had held out to him. I rang. A maid appeared. I said:
“ ‘M. Patience, if you please. Is he at home?’
“She replied: ‘He is here, sir—Do you wish to speak with him?’
“ ‘Yes.’
“The vestibule was ornamented with paintings from the brush of some local artist. Paul and Virginia were embracing under some palms drowned in a rosy light. A hideous Oriental lantern hung from the ceiling. There were many doors, masked by showy hangings. But that which struck me particularly was the odour—a permeating, perfumed odour, recalling rice
