"Youth . . . youth!" the visitor would murmur with a smile of tolerance.
And he actually had to make an effort to recall the dignity of his
years, in order not to ask Argensola to present him to the fair
fugitives whose presence he suspected in the interior rooms. Perhaps
they had been his boy's friends, too. They represented a part of his
past, anyway, and that was enough to make him presume that they had
great charms which made them interesting.
These surprises, with their upsetting consequences, finally made the
painter rather regret this new friendship; and the invitations to dinner
which he was constantly receiving bored him, too. He found the Desnoyers
table most excellent, but too tedious--for the father and mother could
talk of nothing but their absent son. Chichi scarcely looked at her
brother's friend. Her attention was entirely concentrated on the war.
The irregularity in the mails was exasperating her so that she began
composing protests to the government whenever a few days passed by
without bringing any letter from sub-Lieutenant Lacour.
Argensola excused himself on various pretexts from continuing to dine
in the avenue Victor Hugo. It pleased him far more to haunt the cheap
restaurants with his female flock. His host accepted his negatives with
good-natured resignation.
"Not to-day, either?"
And in order to compensate for his guest's non-appearance, he would
present himself at the studio earlier than ever on the day following.
Pages:
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506