Back at Madame’s apartment, she busied herself about the place, telling the maid to do this and that and about a million other things, while I just plumped myself down and almost went to sleep.
About eight o’clock a frock-coated Frenchman with a kaiserish mustache and a two-point beard dropped in, and I was introduced to him. He was some kind of minister or other in the French government. He spoke to me in English and I answered in my own language. The Madame brought in some champagne and Whiskers had several. They began to chatter away in French, only now and then turning a few commonplace remarks in English upon me.
Since they didn’t expect me to understand or talk French, I just kept quiet and listened. As far as I could make out, they didn’t really have much to say to each other: they just talked a hell of a lot, but in the end it seemed to be agreed that the Madame would be delighted to meet him somewhere in Fontainebleau at eleven. I didn’t know whether she meant eleven that night or next day, but I decided to stick around as long as she let me.
The Frenchman finally left and she returned to me. “O—I am so tired!” she exclaimed, arranging the pillows on the divan and motioning to me to come over. “Shopping invariably wears me to a frazzle.... Now, you sit right there like a nice boy and let your grandmother lie across your lap ... like this.”
Which was a very nice position—at least, it must have been comfortable for her, with a whole stack of pillows under her head. She closed her eyes and threw her arm over my shoulder.... Then she began to play her fingers about the back of my neck and in my hair.... I thought turn about ought to be fair play, so I tickled her neck and ran my fingers lightly up and down her spine—or at least, where her spine ought to be.... She surely was a marvelously constructed piece of anatomy!
Now and then she crooned some damned fool thing to me.... I rubbed her temples.... She kissed the palms of my hands and called me a “little jewel.”
After a while she began asking questions, in a sort of lazy, unconcerned manner, about my work, about General Backett, my sister, Captain Winstead....
“You rather like the Captain, n’est-ce pas?” I said.
“I think he is too dear to be true,” she said, and it sounded very genuine to me. “He is very charming, and very clever.... Your sister never need envy anyone else.”
“I think he’s a peach of a fellow,” I said, trying to sound sort of fraternal about it. “He’s been very good to me since I came to Paris ... and I certainly owe him something for introducing me to you and your circle of jolly friends.”