The journalist and his companion emerged some time later from one of the best known restaurants, both drunk, especially the stranger, who could scarcely keep his feet.
"Look here, we must go ... go..."
"Go to bed," interrupted Fandor.
"No. I know where we can go...."
"But we've been everywhere."
"We'll go to my rooms ... to her rooms ... to Susy d'Orsel ... she's my girl ... d'ye know, she's been expecting me for supper since midnight."
"More supper?"
"Of course ... there's plenty of room left."
With some difficulty the stranger managed to give the address, 247 Rue de Monceau.
"All right," said Fandor to himself, "we'll have some fun; after all, what do I risk?"