For my gold watch I received two hundred francs, though it had cost over a thousand; and with this I returned. Much the shape and colour of a bloated spider, the concierge emerged from her den, and to her I paid the rent. Then, leaping upstairs, I poured the balance remaining from both transactions into Anastasia’s lap.
“There! That ought to keep away the wolf for a month. A hundred and fifty francs and the rent paid for another quarter. Aren’t we the lucky things? The roof’s overhead; the soup’s in the pot; let’s sing. Now do I know why the very wastrels in the street are not so much to be pitied after all; a warm corner and a full belly, that’s happiness to them. Wealth’s only a matter of wants. Well, we’re wealthy, let’s go to the cinema.”
“No, darleen, that would not be serious. I must guard your money now. When you sink you begeen work once more?”
“I don’t know. I’m having one of my bad spells. Funny how it takes one. Times ideas come in a perfect spate, and I miss half grabbing for the others. At present the divine afflatus is on a vacation. I’m trying to start a novel and I haven’t got the Idea. You see this short story and article stuff is all very well to boil the marmite, but a novel’s my real chance. A successful novel would put me on my feet. Pray, Little Thing, I get the idea for a novel.”
“Yes, I will, I will indeed,” she answered me quite seriously.
And indeed she did: for one day I strolled into Notre Dame, and there by one of those hard, high-backed chairs before the mighty altar I discovered her imploring (I have no doubt) the “bon Dieu” that the idea might come.
For simple, shining faith I’m willing to bet my last dollar on Anastasia.
CHAPTER VII
THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY
May 1st.
This morning in the course of my walk I saw a hungry child trying to sell violets, a girl gazing fearfully at the Maternity Hospital, an old woman picking, as if they were gold, coals from the gutter. At times what a world of poignant drama these common sights reveal! It is like getting one’s eye to a telescope that is focussed on a world of interesting misery. I want to write of these things, but I must not. First of all I must write for money; that gained, I may write for art.