Andrews noticed that there was someone beside them. The faint, greenish glow from the lamp on the quai enabled him to recognize the lame boy he had talked to months ago on the Butte.
“I wonder if you'll remember me,” he said.
“You are the American who was in the Restaurant, Place du Terte, I don't remember when, but it was long ago.”
They shook hands.
“But you are alone,” said Andrews.
“Yes, I am always alone,” said the lame boy firmly. He held out his hand again.
“Au revoir,” said Andrews.
“Good luck!” said the lame boy. Andrews heard his crutch tapping on the pavement as he went away along the quai.
“Jeanne,” said Andrews, suddenly, “you'll come home with me, won't you?”
“But you have a friend living with you.”