‘You don’t think I am?’ he muttered.  ’You think young What’s-his-name can play Ch—­Chopin better than me?  Is that it?’

I wanted to run away, to cease to exist, to hide with my shame in some deep abyss.  And there I was on the boulevard, next to this animal, sharing his table and the degradation!  And I could not move.  There are people so gifted that in a dilemma they always know exactly the wisest course to adopt.  But I did not know.  This part of my story gives me infinite pain to write, and yet I must write it, though I cannot persuade myself to write it in full; the details would be too repulsive.  Nevertheless, forget not that I lived it.

He put his face to mine again, and began to stammer something, and I drew away.

‘You are ashamed of me, madam,’ he said sharply.

‘I think you are not quite yourself—­not quite well,’ I replied.

‘You mean I am drunk.’

’I mean what I say.  You are not quite well.  Please do not twist my words.’

‘You mean I am drunk,’ he insisted, raising his voice.  ’I am not drunk; I have never been drunk.  That I can swear with my hand on my heart.  But you are ashamed of being seen with me.’

‘I think you ought to go home,’ I suggested.

‘That is only to get rid of me!’ he cried.

‘No, no,’ I appealed to him persuasively.  ’Do not wound me.  I will go with you as far as your house, if you like.  You are too ill to be alone.’

At that moment an empty open cab strolled by, and, without pausing for his answer, I signalled the driver.  My heart beat wildly.  My spirit was in an uproar.  But I was determined not to desert him, not to abandon him to a public disgrace.  I rose from my seat.

‘You’re very good,’ he said, in a new voice.

The cab had stopped.

‘Come!’ I entreated him.

He rapped uncertainly on the window, and then, as the waiter did not immediately appear, he threw some silver on the table, and aimed himself in the direction of the cab.  I got in.  Diaz slipped on the step.

‘I’ve forgotten somethin’,’ he complained.  ’What is it?  My umbrella—­yes, my umbrella—­pepin as they say here.  ‘Scuse me moment.’

His umbrella was, in fact, lying under a chair.  He stooped with difficulty and regained it, and then the waiter, who had at length arrived, helped him into the cab, and he sank like a mass of inert clay on my skirts.

‘Tell the driver the address,’ I whispered.

The driver, with head turned and a grin on his face, was waiting.

‘Rue de Douai,’ said Diaz sullenly.

‘What number?’ the driver asked.

‘Does that regard you?’ Diaz retorted crossly in French.  ’I will tell you later.’

‘Tell him now,’ I pleaded.

’Well, to oblige you, I will.  Twenty-seven.  But what I can’t stand is the impudence of these fellows.’

The driver winked at me.