She was pleased, loving to dance. We walked up the pavement of the rue Royale to the quiet doors of Larue. She said: “I love Rudolf and Raymonde. I saw them dancing at Monte Carlo, and they say American women give him platinum watches from Cartier and that he was a footman in San Francisco, or was that Rudolf Valentino?”
I said: “I say, do you know anything about septic poisoning?”
“Really, how callous you are! Do I know anything about it! But I had it!”
“No!” One’s sister!
“But of course I had it! It is amazing when one’s own brother is quite unaware that one has been through endless pain and torture.”
“Not pain and torture,” I said. “A little bird told me.”
“But I am not responsible for your feathered friends! I was as good as dead, that’s all I know.”
“But, my dear, that was when you were having a baby! I was in Vienna.”
“So you said. But, of course, it came on after I had a baby. One does not get septic poisoning for nothing. I nearly died, I can tell you.”
“Vestiaire, monsieur?”