I even feel myself growing radiant. I was under the impression that the best had already been served. Didn't know he was holding back anything. With the promise of better wine I am tempted to try another toast to the bride-to-be.
XIII.
I FLY FROM PARIS TO LONDON
The first night in Paris after our return from Germany we dined at Pioccardi's, then walked up to the arches of the old gates of Paris. Our intention was to visit the Louvre and see the statue of Venus de Milo, but it only got as far as intention.
We drifted into the Montmartre district and stopped in Le Rat Mort, one of its most famous restaurants. As it is very early in the evening, there are very few people about—one reason why I picked out this place, which later in the night becomes the centre of hectic revelry.
Passing our table is a striking-looking girl with bobbed blond hair, shadowing beautiful, delicate features of pale coloring and soft, strange eyes of a violet blue. Her passing is momentary, but she is the most striking-looking girl I have seen in Europe.
Although there are but few people here, I am soon recognised. The French are so demonstrative. They wave, "Hello, Charlot!"
I am indifferent. I smile mechanically. I am tired. I shall go to bed early. I order champagne.
The bobbed-hair one is sitting at a table near us. She interests me. But she doesn't turn so that I can see her face. She is sitting facing her friend, a dark, Spanish-looking girl.
I wish she'd turn. She has a beautiful profile, but I would like to see her full face again. She looked so lovely when she passed me before. I recall that ghost of a smile that hovered near her mouth, showing just a bit of beautiful, even, white teeth.
The orchestra is starting and dancers are swinging on to the floor. The two girls rise and join the dance. I will watch closely now and perhaps get another flash at her when she whirls by.