A young man, tall, thin, dark, with a long moustache, entered, and bowed with brusque suppleness.
“Monsieur Vence, I think that you know Monsieur Le Menil.”
They had met before at Madame Martin’s, and saw each other often at the Fencing Club. The day before they had met at Madame Meillan’s.
“Madame Meillan’s—there’s a house where one is bored,” said Paul Vence.
“Yet Academicians go there,” said M. Robert Le Menil. “I do not exaggerate their value, but they are the elite.”
Madame Martin smiled.
“We know, Monsieur Le Menil, that at Madame Meillan’s you are preoccupied by the women more than by the Academicians. You escorted Princess Seniavine to the buffet and talked to her about wolves.”
“What wolves?”
“Wolves, and forests blackened by winter. We thought that with so pretty a woman your conversation was rather savage!”
Paul Vence rose.