“‘Waiter, my bitters!’

“The ‘my’ came out like the report of a cannon.  I immediately understood that everything was his in life, and not another’s; that he had his nature, by Jove, his appetite, his trousers, his everything, his, more absolutely and more completely than anyone else’s.  Then he looked round him with a satisfied air.  His bitters were brought, and he ordered: 

“‘My newspaper!’

“I wondered:  ‘Which newspaper can his be?’ The title would certainly reveal to me his opinions, his theories, his principles, his hobbies, his weaknesses.

“The waiter brought the Temps.  I was surprised.  Why the Temps, a serious, sombre, doctrinaire, impartial sheet?  I thought: 

“’He must be a serious man with settled and regular habits; in short, a good bourgeois.’

“He put on his gold-rimmed spectacles, leaned back before beginning to read, and once more glanced about him.  He noticed me, and immediately began to stare at me in an annoying manner.  I was even going to ask the reason for this attention, when he exclaimed from his seat: 

“‘Well, by all that’s holy, if this isn’t Gontran Lardois.’

“I answered: 

“‘Yes, monsieur, you are not mistaken.’

“Then he quickly rose and came toward me with hands outstretched: 

“‘Well, old man, how are you?’

“As I did not recognize him at all I was greatly embarrassed.  I stammered: 

“‘Why-very well-and-you?’

“He began to laugh “‘I bet you don’t recognize me.’

“‘No, not exactly.  It seems—­however—­’

“He slapped me on the back: 

“’Come on, no joking!  I am Patience, Robert Patience, your friend, your chum.’

“I recognized him.  Yes, Robert Patience, my old college chum.  It was he.  I took his outstretched hand: 

“‘And how are you?’

“‘Fine!’

“His smile was like a paean of victory.

“He asked: 

“‘What are you doing here?’

“I explained that I was government inspector of taxes.

“He continued, pointing to my red ribbon: 

“‘Then you have-been a success?’

“I answered: 

“‘Fairly so.  And you?’

“‘I am doing well!’

“‘What are you doing?’

“‘I’m in business.’

“‘Making money?’

“’Heaps.  I’m very rich.  But come around to lunch, to-morrow noon, 17 Rue du Coq-qui-Chante; you will see my place.’

“He seemed to hesitate a second, then continued: 

“‘Are you still the good sport that you used to be?’

“‘I—­I hope so.’

“‘Not married?’

“‘No.’

“‘Good.  And do you still love a good time and potatoes?’

“I was beginning to find him hopelessly vulgar.  Nevertheless, I answered “‘Yes.’

“‘And pretty girls?’

“‘Most assuredly.’

“He began to laugh good-humoredly.