I did not see Brett again until she came back from San Sebastian. One card came from her from there. It had a picture of the Concha, and said: "Darling. Very quiet and healthy. Love to all the chaps. BRETT."
Nor did I see Robert Cohn again. I heard Frances had left for England and I had a note from Cohn saying he was going out in the country for a couple of weeks, he did not know where, but that he wanted to hold me to the fishing-trip in Spain we had talked about last winter. I could reach him always, he wrote, through his bankers.
Brett was gone, I was not bothered by Cohn's troubles, I rather enjoyed not having to play tennis, there was plenty of work to do, I went often to the races, dined with friends, and put in some extra time at the office getting things ahead so I could leave it in charge of my secretary when Bill Gorton and I should shove off to Spain the end of June. Bill Gorton arrived, put up a couple of days at the flat and went off to Vienna. He was very cheerful and said the States were wonderful. New York was wonderful. There had been a grand theatrical season and a whole crop of great young light heavyweights. Any one of them was a good prospect to grow up, put on weight and trim Dempsey. Bill was very happy. He had made a lot of money on his last book, and was going to make a lot more. We had a good time while he was in Paris, and then he went off to Vienna. He was coming back in three weeks and we would leave for Spain to get in some fishing and go to the fiesta at Pamplona. He wrote that Vienna was wonderful. Then a card from Budapest: "Jake, Budapest is wonderful." Then I got a wire: "Back on Monday."
Monday evening he turned up at the flat. I heard his taxi stop and went to the window and called to him; he waved and started up-stairs carrying his bags. I met him on the stairs, and took one of the bags.
"Well," I said, "I hear you had a wonderful trip."
"Wonderful," he said. "Budapest is absolutely wonderful."
"How about Vienna?"
"Not so good, Jake. Not so good. It seemed better than it was."
"How do you mean?" I was getting glasses and a siphon.
"Tight, Jake. I was tight."
"That's strange. Better have a drink."
Bill rubbed his forehead. "Remarkable thing," he said. "Don't know how it happened. Suddenly it happened."
"Last long?"
"Four days, Jake. Lasted just four days."
"Where did you go?"
"Don't remember. Wrote you a post-card. Remember that perfectly."
"Do anything else?"
"Not so sure. Possible."
"Go on. Tell me about it."
"Can't remember. Tell you anything I could remember."
"Go on. Take that drink and remember."
"Might remember a little," Bill said. "Remember something about a prize-fight. Enormous Vienna prize-fight. Had a nigger in it. Remember the nigger perfectly."
"Go on."
"Wonderful nigger. Looked like Tiger Flowers, only four times as big. All of a sudden everybody started to throw things. Not me. Nigger'd just knocked local boy down. Nigger put up his glove. Wanted to make a speech. Awful noble-looking nigger. Started to make a speech. Then local white boy hit him. Then he knocked white boy cold. Then everybody commenced to throw chairs. Nigger went home with us in our car. Couldn't get his clothes. Wore my coat. Remember the whole thing now. Big sporting evening."
"What happened?"
"Loaned the nigger some clothes and went around with him to try and get his money. Claimed nigger owed them money on account of wrecking hall. Wonder who translated? Was it me?"
"Probably it wasn't you."
"You're right. Wasn't me at all. Was another fellow. Think we called him the local Harvard man. Remember him now. Studying music."
"How'd you come out?"
"Not so good, Jake. Injustice everywhere. Promoter claimed nigger promised let local boy stay. Claimed nigger violated contract. Can't knock out Vienna boy in Vienna. 'My God, Mister Gorton,' said nigger, 'I didn't do nothing in there for forty minutes but try and let him stay. That white boy musta ruptured himself swinging at me. I never did hit him.' "
"Did you get any money?"
"No money, Jake. All we could get was nigger's clothes. Somebody took his watch, too. Splendid nigger. Big mistake to have come to Vienna. Not so good, Jake. Not so good."
"What became of the nigger?"
"Went back to Cologne. Lives there. Married. Got a family. Going to write me a letter and send me the money I loaned him. Wonderful nigger. Hope I gave him the right address."
"You probably did."
"Well, anyway, let's eat," said Bill. "Unless you want me to tell you some more travel stories."
"Go on."
"Let's eat."
We went down-stairs and out onto the Boulevard St. Michel in the warm June evening.
"Where will we go?"
"Want to eat on the island?"
"Sure."
We walked down the Boulevard. At the juncture of the Rue Denfert-Rochereau with the Boulevard is a statue of two men in flowing robes.
"I know who they are." Bill eyed the monument. "Gentlemen who invented pharmacy. Don't try and fool me on Paris."
We went on.
"Here's a taxidermist's," Bill said. "Want to buy anything? Nice stuffed dog?"
"Come on," I said. "You're pie-eyed."
"Pretty nice stuffed dogs," Bill said. "Certainly brighten up your flat."
"Come on."
"Just one stuffed dog. I can take 'em or leave 'em alone. But listen, Jake. Just one stuffed dog."
"Come on."
"Mean everything in the world to you after you bought it. Simple exchange of values. You give them money. They give you a stuffed dog."
"We'll get one on the way back."
"All right. Have it your own way. Road to hell paved with unbought stuffed dogs. Not my fault."
We went on.
"How'd you feel that way about dogs so sudden?"
"Always felt that way about dogs. Always been a great lover of stuffed animals."
We stopped and had a drink.
"Certainly like to drink," Bill said. "You ought to try it some times, Jake."
"You're about a hundred and forty-four ahead of me."
"Ought not to daunt you. Never be daunted. Secret of my success. Never been daunted. Never been daunted in public."
"Where were you drinking?"
"Stopped at the Crillon. George made me a couple of Jack Roses. George's a great man. Know the secret of his success? Never been daunted."
"You'll be daunted after about three more pernods."
"Not in public. If I begin to feel daunted I'll go off by myself. I'm like a cat that way."
"When did you see Harvey Stone?"
"At the Crillon. Harvey was just a little daunted. Hadn't eaten for three days. Doesn't eat any more. Just goes off like a cat. Pretty sad."
"He's all right."
"Splendid. Wish he wouldn't keep going off like a cat, though. Makes me nervous."
"What'll we do to-night?"
"Doesn't make any difference. Only let's not get daunted. Suppose they got any hard-boiled eggs here? If they had hard-boiled eggs here we wouldn't have to go all the way down to the island to eat."
"Nix," I said. "We're going to have a regular meal."
"Just a suggestion," said Bill. "Want to start now?"
"Come on."
We started on again down the Boulevard. A horse-cab passed us. Bill looked at it.
"See that horse-cab? Going to have that horse-cab stuffed for you for Christmas. Going to give all my friends stuffed animals. I'm a nature-writer."
A taxi passed, some one in it waved, then banged for the driver to stop. The taxi backed up to the curb. In it was Brett.
"Beautiful lady," said Bill. "Going to kidnap us."
"Hullo!" Brett said. "Hullo!"
"This is Bill Gorton. Lady Ashley."
Brett smiled at Bill. "I say I'm just back. Haven't bathed even. Michael comes in to-night."
"Good. Come on and eat with us, and we'll all go to meet him."
"Must clean myself."
"Oh, rot! Come on."
"Must bathe. He doesn't get in till nine."
"Come and have a drink, then, before you bathe."
"Might do that. Now you're not talking rot."
We got in the taxi. The driver looked around.
"Stop at the nearest bistro," I said.
"We might as well go to the Closerie," Brett said. "I can't drink these rotten brandies."
"Closerie des Lilas."
Brett turned to Bill.
"Have you been in this pestilential city long?"
"Just got in to-day from Budapest."
"How was Budapest?"
"Wonderful. Budapest was wonderful."
"Ask him about Vienna."
"Vienna," said Bill, "is a strange city."
"Very much like Paris," Brett smiled at him, wrinkling the corners of her eyes.
"Exactly," Bill said. "Very much like Paris at this moment."
"You have a good start."
Sitting out on the terraces of the Lilas Brett ordered a whiskey and soda, I took one, too, and Bill took another pernod.
"How are you, Jake?"
"Great," I said. "I've had a good time."
Brett looked at me. "I was a fool to go away," she said. "One's an ass to leave Paris."
"Did you have a good time?"
"Oh, all right. Interesting. Not frightfully amusing."
"See anybody?"
"No, hardly anybody. I never went out."
"Didn't you swim?"
"No. Didn't do a thing."
"Sounds like Vienna," Bill said.
Brett wrinkled up the corners of her eyes at him.
"So that's the way it was in Vienna."
"It was like everything in Vienna."
Brett smiled at him again.
"You've a nice friend, Jake."
"He's all right," I said. "He's a taxidermist."
"That was in another country," Bill said. "And besides all the animals were dead."
"One more," Brett said, "and I must run. Do send the waiter for a taxi."
"There's a line of them. Right out in front."
"Good."
We had the drink and put Brett into her taxi.
"Mind you're at the Select around ten. Make him come. Michael will be there."
"We'll be there," Bill said. The taxi started and Brett waved.
"Quite a girl," Bill said. "She's damned nice. Who's Michael?"
"The man she's going to marry."
"Well, well," Bill said. "That's always just the stage I meet anybody. What'll I send them? Think they'd like a couple of stuffed race-horses?"
"We better eat."
"Is she really Lady something or other?" Bill asked in the taxi on our way down to the Ile Saint Louis.
"Oh, yes. In the stud-book and everything."
"Well, well."
We ate dinner at Madame Lecomte's restaurant on the far side of the island. It was crowded with Americans and we had to stand up and wait for a place. Some one had put it in the American Women's Club list as a quaint restaurant on the Paris quais as yet untouched by Americans, so we had to wait forty-five minutes for a table. Bill had eaten at the restaurant in 1918, and right after the armistice, and Madame Lecomte made a great fuss over seeing him.
"Doesn't get us a table, though," Bill said. "Grand woman, though."
We had a good meal, a roast chicken, new green beans, mashed potatoes, a salad, and some apple-pie and cheese.
"You've got the world here all right," Bill said to Madame Lecomte. She raised her hand. "Oh, my God!"
"You'll be rich."
"I hope so."
After the coffee and a fine we got the bill, chalked up the same as ever on a slate, that was doubtless one of the "quaint" features, paid it, shook hands, and went out.
"You never come here any more, Monsieur Barnes," Madame Lecomte said.
"Too many compatriots."
"Come at lunch-time. It's not crowded then."
"Good. I'll be down soon."
We walked along under the trees that grew out over the river on the Quai d'Orléans side of the island. Across the river were the broken walls of old houses that were being torn down.
"They're going to cut a street through."
"They would," Bill said.
We walked on and circled the island. The river was dark and a bateau mouche went by, all bright with lights, going fast and quiet up and out of sight under the bridge. Down the river was Notre Dame squatting against the night sky. We crossed to the left bank of the Seine by the wooden foot-bridge from the Quai de Bethune, and stopped on the bridge and looked down the river at Notre Dame. Standing on the bridge the island looked dark, the houses were high against the sky, and the trees were shadows.
"It's pretty grand," Bill said. "God, I love to get back."
We leaned on the wooden rail of the bridge and looked up the river to the lights of the big bridges. Below the water was smooth and black. It made no sound against the piles of the bridge. A man and a girl passed us. They were walking with their arms around each other.
We crossed the bridge and walked up the Rue du Cardinal Lemoine. It was steep walking, and we went all the way up to the Place Contrescarpe. The arc-light shone through the leaves of the trees in the square, and underneath the trees was an S bus ready to start. Music came out of the door of the Negre Joyeux. Through the window of the Café Aux Amateurs I saw the long zinc bar. Outside on the terrace working people were drinking. In the open kitchen of the Amateurs a girl was cooking potato-chips in oil. There was an iron pot of stew. The girl ladled some onto a plate for an old man who stood holding a bottle of red wine in one hand.
"Want to have a drink?"
"No," said Bill. "I don't need it."
We turned to the right off the Place Contrescarpe, walking along smooth narrow streets with high old houses on both sides. Some of the houses jutted out toward the street. Others were cut back. We came onto the Rue du Pot de Fer and followed it along until it brought us to the rigid north and south of the Rue Saint Jacques and then walked south, past Val de Grace, set back behind the courtyard and the iron fence, to the Boulevard du Port Royal.
"What do you want to do?" I asked. "Go up to the café and see Brett and Mike?"
"Why not?"
We walked along Port Royal until it became Montparnasse, and then on past the Lilas, Lavigne's, and all the little cafés, Damoy's, crossed the street to the Rotonde, past its lights and tables to the Select.
Michael came toward us from the tables. He was tanned and healthy-looking.
"Hel-lo, Jake," he said. "Hel-lo! Hel-lo! How are you, old lad?"
"You look very fit, Mike."
"Oh, I am. I'm frightfully fit. I've done nothing but walk. Walk all day long. One drink a day with my mother at tea."
Bill had gone into the bar. He was standing talking with Brett, who was sitting on a high stool, her legs crossed. She had no stockings on.
"It's good to see you, Jake," Michael said. "I'm a little tight you know. Amazing, isn't it? Did you see my nose?"
There was a patch of dried blood on the bridge of his nose.
"An old lady's bags did that," Mike said. "I reached up to help her with them and they fell on me."
Brett gestured at him from the bar with her cigarette-holder and wrinkled the corners of her eyes.
"An old lady," said Mike. "Her bags fell on me. Let's go in and see Brett. I say, she is a piece. You are a lovely lady, Brett. Where did you get that hat?"
"Chap bought it for me. Don't you like it?"
"It's a dreadful hat. Do get a good hat."
"Oh, we've so much money now," Brett said. "I say, haven't you met Bill yet? You _are_ a lovely host, Jake."
She turned to Mike. "This is Bill Gorton. This drunkard is Mike Campbell. Mr. Campbell is an undischarged bankrupt."
"Aren't I, though? You know I met my ex-partner yesterday in London. Chap who did me in."
"What did he say?"
"Bought me a drink. I thought I might as well take it. I say, Brett, you are a lovely piece. Don't you think she's beautiful?"
"Beautiful. With this nose?"
"It's a lovely nose. Go on, point it at me. Isn't she a lovely piece?"
"Couldn't we have kept the man in Scotland?"
"I say, Brett, let's turn in early."
"Don't be indecent, Michael. Remember there are ladies at this bar."
"Isn't she a lovely piece? Don't you think so, Jake?"
"There's a fight to-night," Bill said. "Like to go?"
"Fight," said Mike. "Who's fighting?"
"Ledoux and somebody."
"He's very good, Ledoux," Mike said. "I'd like to see it, rather"--he was making an effort to pull himself together--"but I can't go. I had a date with this thing here. I say, Brett, do get a new hat."
Brett pulled the felt hat down far over one eye and smiled out from under it. "You two run along to the fight. I'll have to be taking Mr. Campbell home directly."
"I'm not tight," Mike said. "Perhaps just a little. I say, Brett, you are a lovely piece."
"Go on to the fight," Brett said. "Mr. Campbell's getting difficult. What are these outbursts of affection, Michael?"
"I say, you are a lovely piece."
We said good night. "I'm sorry I can't go," Mike said. Brett laughed. I looked back from the door. Mike had one hand on the bar and was leaning toward Brett, talking. Brett was looking at him quite coolly, but the corners of her eyes were smiling.
Outside on the pavement I said: "Do you want to go to the fight?"
"Sure," said Bill. "If we don't have to walk."
"Mike was pretty excited about his girl friend," I said in the taxi.
"Well," said Bill. "You can't blame him such a hell of a lot."
等到勃莱特从圣塞瓦斯蒂安回来了，我才和她再次见面。她从那儿寄来过一张明信片。明信片上印有康查海湾的风景照，并写着：“亲爱的。非常宁静，有益身心。向诸位问好。勃莱特。”我这一阵也没有再见到过罗伯特.科恩。听说弗朗西丝已去英国，我收到科恩一封短简，说要到乡下去住两周，具体去向尚未决定，不过他要我遵守去年冬天我们谈过的计划：到西班牙去作一次钓鱼旅行。他写道，我可以随时通过他的银行经纪人和他取得联系。
勃莱特走了，我不再被科恩的烦恼所打扰，我不用去打网球，感到很惬意。因为我有很多工作要干。我常去赛马场，和朋友一起吃饭。六月末我要和比尔.戈顿到西班牙去，因此我经常在写字间加班，好提前赶出一些东西，到时候移交给秘书。比尔.戈顿到了巴黎，在我的住处待了两天就到维也纳去了。他兴高采烈地称赞美国好极了。纽约好得不得了。那里的戏剧季节规模宏大，还出现了一大批出色的青年轻量级拳击手。其中每个人都大有成长起来、增强体重并击败登普西的希望。比尔兴致勃勃。他新近出版的一本书给他挣到了一大笔钱，而且还会挣得更多。他在巴黎这两天我们过得很愉快，接着他就到维也纳去了。他将于三周后回来，那时我们将动身到西班牙去钓鱼，然后去潘普洛纳过节。他来信说维也纳很迷人。后来在布达佩斯寄来一张明信片上写着：“杰克，布达佩斯迷人极了。”最后我收到一封电报：“周一归。”
星期一晚上，他来到我的寓所。我听到他坐的出租汽车停下的声音，就走到窗前喊他；他挥挥手，拎着几只旅行袋走上楼来。我在楼梯上迎接他，接过一只旅行袋。“啊，”我说，“听说你这次旅行挺称心。”“好极了，”他说。“布达佩斯绝顶地好。”“维也纳呢？”“不怎么样，杰克。不怎么样。比过去似乎好一点。”“什么意思？”我在拿酒杯和一个苏打水瓶。“我醉过，杰克。我喝醉过。”“真想不到。还是来一杯吧。”比尔擦擦他的前额。“真是怪事，”他说。“不知怎的就醉了。突然醉了。”
“时间长吗？”
“四天，杰克。拖了正好四天。”
“你都到了哪些地方？”
“不记得了。给你寄过一张明信片。这件事我完全记得。”“另外还干什么啦？”“说不准了。可能……”“说下去。给我说说。”“记不得了。我能记多少就给你讲多少吧。”“说下去。喝完这一杯，再想想。”“可能会想起一点儿，”比尔说。“想起一次拳击赛。维也纳的一次大型拳击赛。有个黑人参加。这黑人我记得很清楚。”
“说下去。”
“一位出众的黑人。长得很象‘老虎’弗劳尔斯，不过有他四个那么大。突然，观众纷纷扔起东西来。我可没有。黑人刚把当地的一个小伙击倒在地。黑人举起他一只带手套的手。想发表演说啦。他神态落落大方。他刚要开口，那位当地的白种小伙向他一拳打去。他随即一拳把白种小伙击昏了。这时观众开始抛掷坐椅。黑人搭我们的车回家。连衣服也没法拿到。穿着我的外衣。现在全部过程我都想起来了。这一夜真热闹。”
“后来呢？”
“我借给黑人几件衣服，和他一起奔走，想法要拿到那笔钱。但是人家说场子给砸了，黑人倒欠他们钱。不知道是谁当的翻译？是我吗？”
“大概不是你。”
“你说得对。确实不是我。是另外一个人。我们好象管他叫当地的哈佛大学毕业生。想起他来了。正在学音乐。”
“结果怎么样？”
“不大妙，杰克。世上处处不讲理。拳赛主持人坚持说黑人答应过让当地白种小伙赢的。说黑人违反了合同。不能在维也纳击倒维也纳的拳击手。‘天啊，戈顿先生，’黑人说，‘我整整四十分钟在场子里没干别的，只是想方设法让着他。这白种小伙准是向我挥拳的时候伤了他自己。我真的一直没出手打他。’”
“你要到钱了？”
“没捞着，杰克。只把黑人的衣服弄回来了。他的表也让人拿走了。这黑人真了不起。到维也纳去一趟是个莫大的错误。这地方不怎么好，杰克。不怎么好。”
“这黑人后来怎么样？”
“回科隆去了。住在那里。已经结婚。有老婆孩子。要给我写信，还要寄还我借给他的钱。这黑人真了不起。但愿我给他的地址没有弄错。”
“大概不会错的。”
“得了，还是吃饭去吧，”比尔说。“除非你还要我再谈些旅行见闻。”
“往下说。”
“我们吃饭去。”
我们下楼，在六月温煦的傍晚，走上圣米歇尔大街。
“我们上哪儿？”
“想到岛上吃去？”
“当然好。”
我们沿大街朝北走。在大街和当费尔.罗歇罗路交叉的十字路口有一尊长衣飘拂的双人雕侮。
“我知道这两个人是谁，”比尔注视着纪念碑说。“首创制药学的先生们。别想拿巴黎的事情来骗我。”
我们往前走去。
“这里有家动物标本商店，”比尔说。“想买什么吗？买只好看的狗标本？”
“走吧，”我说。“你醉了。”
“挺好看的狗标本，”比尔说。“一定会使你的房间四壁生辉。”
“走吧。”
“你买它一只狗标本。我可买可不买。但是听着，杰克。你买它一只狗标本。”
“走吧。”
“你一买到手，世上别的什么东西你都不会要了。简单的等价交换嘛。你给他们钱。他们给你一只狗标本。”
“等回来的时候买一个吧。”
“好。随你的便。下地狱的路上铺满着该买而没买的狗标本。以后别怨我。”
我们继续往前走。
“你怎么突然对狗发生那么大的兴趣？”
“我向来就喜欢狗。向来非常喜欢动物标本。”
我们停下来，喝了一杯酒。“我确实喜欢喝酒，”比尔说。“你不妨偶尔试试，杰克，”
“你胜过我一百四十四点。”
“别让这个使你气馁。永远不能气馁。我成功的秘诀。从没气馁过。从没当别人的面气馁过。”
“你在哪里喝的？”
“在‘克里荣’弯了一下。乔奇给我调了几杯鸡尾酒。乔奇是个了不起的人物。知道他成功的秘诀吗？从没气馁过。”“你再喝三杯珀诺酒就会气馁了。”“不当别人的面。我一感到不行就独个儿溜走。我在这方面象猫。”“你什么时候碰到哈维.斯通的？”“在‘克里荣’。哈维有点挺不住了。整整三天没有吃东西。什么也不肯吃。象猫一样地溜了。很伤心。”
“他不要紧。”
“太好了。但愿他不要老象猫那样溜掉就好了。弄得我好紧张。”
“今儿晚上我们干什么？”
“干什么都一样。我们只要能挺住就行。你看这里有煮鸡蛋吗？如果有，我们就用不着赶那么远的路到岛上去吃。”
“不行，”我说。“我们要正经八百地吃顿饭。”
“只不过是个建议，”比尔说。“想就走吗？”
“走。”
我们又顺着大街往前走。一辆马车从我们身边驶过。比尔瞧了它一眼。
“看见那辆马车啦？我要把那辆马车做了标本给你作圣诞礼物。打算给我所有的朋友都送动物标本。我是博物学作家。”
开过一辆出租汽车，有人在里面招手，然后敲敲车窗叫司机停下。汽车打倒车到人行道边。里面坐着勃莱特。
“好一个美人儿，”比尔说。“要把我们拐走吧！”
“喂！”勃莱特说。“喂！”“这位是比尔.戈顿。这位是阿施利夫人。”勃莱特对比尔微微一笑。“哎，我才回来，连澡都还没洗呢。迈克尔今晚到。”
“好。来吧，我们一起去吃饭，过后一起去接他。”
“我得洗一洗，”
“别说废话！走吧。”
“必须洗个澡。九点之前他到不了。”
“那么先来喝一杯再去洗澡。”
“也好。你这话说得有道理。”
我们上了车。司机回过头来。
“到最近的酒店去，”我说。
“还是到‘丁香园’吧，”勃莱特说。“我喝不了那种劣质白兰地。”
“‘丁香园’。”
勃莱特转身朝着比尔。
“你在这个讨厌的城市待很久了？”
“今天才从布达佩斯来。”
“布达佩斯怎么样？”
“好极了。布达佩斯非常好。”
“问问他维也纳怎么样。”
“维也纳，”比尔说，“是一座古怪的城市。”
“非常象巴黎，”勃莱特笑着对他说，她的眼角出现了皱纹。
“一点不错，”比尔说。“眼前这时节很象巴黎。”
“我们赶不上你了。”
我们坐在“丁香园”外面的露台上，勃莱特叫了一杯威士忌苏打，我也要了一杯，比尔又要了一杯珀诺酒。
“你好吗，杰克？”
“非常好，”我说。“我过得很愉快。”
勃莱特瞅着我。“我出门去真傻，”她说。“谁离开巴黎，谁就是头蠢驴。”
“你过得很愉快？”
“哎，不错。挺有意思。不过不特别好玩。”
“遇见熟人没有？”
“没有，几乎一个也没有。我从不出屋。”
“你连游泳也没去？”
“没有。什么也没有干。”
“听上去很象维也纳，”比尔说。
勃莱特眯缝起眼睛看他，眼角出现皱纹。
“原来维也纳是这个样子的。”
“一切都跟维也纳一个样。”
勃莱特又对他微微一笑。
“你这位朋友挺好，杰克。”
“他是不错，”我说，“他是制作动物标本的。”
“那还是在另一个国家里的事，”比尔说。“而且都是些死动物。”
“再喝一杯，”勃莱特说，“我就得赶紧走了。请你叫侍者去雇辆车子。”
“外边排着一溜车，就在对面。”
“好。”
我们喝完酒，送勃莱特上车。
“记住，十点左右到‘雅士’。叫他也去。迈克尔会在场的。”
“我们会去的，”比尔说。出租汽车开动了，勃莱特向我们挥挥手。
“多出色的女人啊，”比尔说。“怪有教养的。迈克尔是何许人？”
“就是她要嫁的那个人。”
“啊呀呀，”比尔说。“碰到我结识个女人，总是在这节骨眼儿上。我送他们什么呢？你看他们会喜欢一对赛马标本吧？”
“我们还是去吃饭吧。”
“她真是一位什么某某夫人吗？”我们去圣路易岛的途中，比尔在汽车里问我。
“是啊。在马种系谱什么的里记载着。”
“乖乖。”
我们在小岛北部勒孔特太太的餐厅里进餐。里面坐满了美国人，我们不得不站着等座。有人把这个餐厅写进美国妇女俱乐部的导游小册子里，称它为巴黎沿河码头边一家尚未被美国人光顾的古雅饭店，因此我们等了四十五分钟才弄到一张桌子。比尔在一九一八年大战刚停战时在这里用过餐，勒孔特太太一见到他就大事张罗起来。
“然而没有就给我们弄到一张空桌子，”比尔说。“她可还是个了不起的女人。”
我们吃了顿丰盛的饭：烤子鸡、新鲜菜豆、土豆泥、色拉以及一些苹果馅饼加干酪。
“你把全球的人都吸引到这里来了，”比尔对勒孔特太太说。她举起一只手。“啊，我的上帝！”
“你要发财罗！”
“但愿如此。”
喝完咖啡和白兰地，我们要来帐单。距往常一样，帐单是用粉笔写在石板上的，这无疑是本餐厅“古雅”的特点之一。我们付了帐，和勒孔特太太握握手，就走了出来。
“你就此不想来了，巴恩斯先生，”勒孔特太太说。
“美国来的同胞太多了。”
“午餐时间来吧。那时不挤。”
“好。我就会来的。”
我们在小岛北部奥尔良河滨街的行道树下朝前走，树枝从岸边伸出，笼罩在河面上。河对岸是正在拆毁的一些老房子留下的断垣残壁。
“要打通一条大街。”
“是在这么干，”比尔说。
我们继续朝前走，绕岛一周。河面一片漆黑，开过一艘灯火通明的河上小客轮，它悄悄地匆匆驶往上游，消失在桥洞底下。巴黎圣母院蹲伏在河下游的夜空下。我们从贝都恩河滨街经小木桥向塞纳河左岸走去，在桥上站住了眺望河下游的圣母院。站在桥上，只见岛上暗淡无光，房屋在天际高高耸起，树林呈现出一片荫影。“多么壮观，”比尔说。“上帝，我真想往回走。”
我们倚在桥的木栏杆上，向上游那些大桥上的灯光望去。桥下的流水平静而漆黑。它无声地流过桥墩。有个男人和一个姑娘从我们身边走过。他们互相用胳膊搂抱着走去。
我们跨过木桥，顺着勒穆瓦纳主教路向上走。路面很陡，我们一直步行到康特雷斯卡普广场。广场上，弧光灯光从树叶丛中射下来，树下停着一辆正要开动的公共汽车。“快乐的黑人”咖啡馆门内传出音乐声。透过爱好者咖啡馆的窗子，我看见里面那张很长的白铁酒吧柜。门外露台上有些工人在喝酒。在“爱好者”的露天厨房里，有位姑娘在油锅里炸土豆片。旁边有一铁锅炖肉。一个老头儿手里拿着一瓶红酒站在那里，姑娘舀了一些用盘子装上递给他。
“想喝一杯吧？”
“不想喝，”比尔说。“现在不需要。”
我们在康特雷斯卡普广场上向右拐，顺着平坦、狭窄的街道走去，两侧的房子高大而古老。有些房子突向街心。另一些往后缩。我们走上铁锅路，顺着它往前走，它一直把我们带到南北笔直的圣雅克路，我们然后往南走，经过前有庭院、围着铁栅栏的瓦尔德格拉斯教堂，到达皇家港大街。
“你想做什么？”我问。“到咖啡馆去看看勃莱特和迈克？”
“行啊。”
我们走上和皇家港大街相衔接的蒙帕纳斯大街，一直朝前走，经过“丁香园”、“拉维涅”、“达穆伊”和另外那些小咖啡馆，穿过马路到了对面的“洛东达”，在灯光下经过它门前的那些桌子，来到“雅士”。
迈克尔从桌边站起来迎着我们走过来。他的脸晒得黝黑，气色很好。
“嗨——嗨，杰克，”他说。“嗨——嗨！你好，老朋友？”
“看来你的身体结实着呢，迈克。”
“是啊。结实着哩。除了散步，别的什么也不干，整天溜达。每天同我母亲喝茶的时候喝一杯酒。”
比尔走进酒吧间去了。他站着和勃莱特说话，勃莱特坐在一只高凳上，架起了腿儿。她没有穿长统袜子。
“看到你真高兴，杰克，”迈克尔说。“我有点醉了，你知道。想不到吧？你注意到我的鼻子了吗？”
他鼻梁上有一摊已干的血迹。 “让一位老太太的手提包碰伤的， ”迈克说。“我抬手想帮她拿下几个手提包，它们砸在我头上了。”
勃莱特在酒吧间里拿她的烟嘴向他打手势，挤眼睛。
“一位老太太，”迈克说。“她的手提包砸在我头上了。”
“我们进去看勃莱特吧。哎，她是个迷人的东西。你真是位可爱的夫人，勃莱特。你这顶帽子是从哪儿弄来的？”
“一个朋友给我买的。你不喜欢？”
“太难看了。买顶好的去。”
“啊，现在我们的钱可多哩，”勃莱特说。“喂，你还不认识比尔吧？你真是位可爱的主人，杰克。”
她朝迈克转过身去。“这是比尔.戈顿。这个酒鬼是迈克.坎贝尔。坎贝尔先生是位没还清债务的破产者。”
“可不是？你知道，昨天在伦敦我碰到了我过去的合伙人。就是他把我弄到了这个地步。”
“他说了些什么？”
“请我喝了一杯酒。我寻思还是喝了吧。喂，勃莱特，你真是个迷人的东西。你看她是不是很美丽？”
“美丽。长着这么个鼻子？”“鼻子很可爱。来，把鼻子冲着我。她不是个迷人的东西吗？”“是不是该把这个人留在苏格兰？”“喂，勃莱特，我们还是早点回去睡觉吧。”“别说话没检点，迈克尔。别忘了这酒吧间里有女客呢。”“她是不是个迷人的东西？你看呢，杰克？”“今晚有场拳击赛，”比尔说。“想去吗？”“拳击赛，”迈克说。“谁打？”“莱杜对某某人。”“莱杜拳术很高明，”迈克说。“我倒真想去看看，”——他竭力打起精神来——“但是我不能去。我和这东西有约在先。喂，勃莱特，一定要去买顶新帽子。”
勃莱特拉下毡帽，遮住一只眼睛，在帽沿下露出笑容。“你们两位赶去看拳击吧。我得带坎贝尔先生直接回家了。”
“我没有醉，”迈克说。“也许有那么一点醉意。嗨，勃莱特，你真是个迷人的东西。”
“你们去看拳击吧，”勃莱特说。“坎贝尔先生越来越难弄了。你这是哪儿来的一股多情劲儿，迈克尔？”
“嗨，你真是个迷人的东西。”
我们说了再见。“我不能去真遗憾，”迈克说。勃莱特吃吃地笑。我走到门口回头望望。迈克一只手扶在酒吧柜上，探身冲着勃莱特说话。勃莱特相当冷淡地看着他，但是眼角帝着笑意。
走到外面人行道上，我说：“你想去看拳击吗？”
“当然罗，”比尔说。“如果用不着我们走路的话。”
“迈克为他这个女朋友得意着呢，”我在汽车里说。
“唷，”比尔说。“这你哪能多责怪他啊。”