There followed a painful silence, the waiter understanding that he should not have insisted, Prometheus feeling that he should not have answered.
In a consoling tone: Well! after all his lordship does not make them any more ... said the waiter. But then, what? I must write down something, I cannot write simply: Prometheus. His lordship has perhaps an avocation, a speciality.... After all, what can his lordship do?
—Nothing, again said Prometheus.
—Then let us say: Journalist.—Now, if his lordship will come into the restaurant; I cannot serve dinner outside. And he cried:—A table for three! one!...
By two doors two gentlemen entered; they could be seen giving their names to the waiter; but the introductions not having been asked for, without more ado the two men both sat down.
And when they had sat down:
II
—Gentlemen, said one of them,—if I have come to this restaurant, where the food is bad, it is only to talk. I have a horror of solitary meals, and this system of tables for three pleases me, as with two one might wrangle.... But you look taciturn?
—It is quite unintentional, said Prometheus.