Chapter XII

           

           TheAvenuedeClichywascrowdedatthathour,andalivelyfancymightseeinthepassers-bythepersonagesofmanyasordidromance.Therewereclerksandshopgirls;oldfellowswhomighthavesteppedoutofthepagesofHonoredeBalzac;members,maleandfemale,oftheprofessionswhichmaketheirprofitofthefrailtiesofmankind.ThereisinthestreetsofthepoorerquartersofParisathrongingvitalitywhichexcitesthebloodandpreparesthesoulfortheunexpected.

           "DoyouknowPariswell?"Iasked.

           "No.Wecameonourhoneymoon.Ihaven’tbeensince."

           "Howonearthdidyoufindoutyourhotel?"

           "Itwasrecommendedtome.Iwantedsomethingcheap."

           Theabsinthecame,andwithduesolemnitywedroppedwateroverthemeltingsugar.

           "IthoughtI’dbettertellyouatoncewhyIhadcometoseeyou,"Isaid,notwithoutembarrassment.

           Hiseyestwinkled."Ithoughtsomebodywouldcomealongsoonerorlater.I’vehadalotoflettersfromAmy."

           "ThenyouknowprettywellwhatI’vegottosay."

           "I’venotreadthem."

           Ilitacigarettetogivemyselfamoment’stime.Ididnotquiteknownowhowtosetaboutmymission.TheeloquentphrasesIhadarranged,patheticorindignant,seemedoutofplaceontheAvenuedeClichy.Suddenlyhegaveachuckle.

           "Beastlyjobforyouthis,isn’tit?"

           "Oh,Idon’tknow,"Ianswered.

           "Well,lookhere,yougetitover,andthenwe’llhaveajollyevening."

           Ihesitated.

           "Hasitoccurredtoyouthatyourwifeisfrightfullyunhappy?"

           "She’llgetoverit."

           Icannotdescribetheextraordinarycallousnesswithwhichhemadethisreply.

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