Chapter XIII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　I dare say it would have been more seemly to decline this proposal.I think perhaps I should have made a show of theindignation I really felt, and I am sure that ColonelMacAndrew at least would have thought well of me if I had beenable to report my stout refusal to sit at the same table witha man of such character. But the fear of not being able tocarry it through effectively has always made me shy ofassuming the moral attitude; and in this case the certaintythat my sentiments would be lost on Strickland made itpeculiarly embarrassing to utter them. Only the poet or thesaint can water an asphalt pavement in the confidentanticipation that lilies will reward his labour.I paid for what we had drunk, and we made our way to a cheaprestaurant, crowded and gay, where we dined with pleasure.I had the appetite of youth and he of a hardened conscience.Then we went to a tavern to have coffee and liqueurs.I had said all I had to say on the subject that had brought meto Paris, and though I felt it in a manner treacherous to Mrs.Strickland not to pursue it, I could not struggle against hisindifference. It requires the feminine temperament to repeatthe same thing three times with unabated zest. I solacedmyself by thinking that it would be useful for me to find outwhat I could about Strickland's state of mind. It alsointerested me much more. But this was not an easy thing to do,for Strickland was not a fluent talker. He seemed toexpress himself with difficulty, as though words were not themedium with which his mind worked; and you had to guess theintentions of his soul by hackneyed phrases, slang, and vague,unfinished gestures. But though he said nothing of anyconsequence, there was something in his personality whichprevented him from being dull. Perhaps it was sincerity.He did not seem to care much about the Paris he was now seeingfor the first time (I did not count the visit with his wife),and he accepted sights which must have been strange to himwithout any sense of astonishment. I have been to Paris ahundred times, and it never fails to give me a thrill of excitement;I can never walk its streets without feeling myselfon the verge of adventure. Strickland remained placid.Looking back, I think now that he was blind to everything butto some disturbing vision in his soul.One rather absurd incident took place. There were a number ofharlots in the tavern: some were sitting with men, others bythemselves; and presently I noticed that one of these waslooking at us. When she caught Strickland's eye she smiled.I do not think he saw her. In a little while she went out,but in a minute returned and, passing our table, very politelyasked us to buy her something to drink. She sat down and Ibegan to chat with her; but, it was plain that her interestwas in Strickland. I explained that he knew no more than twowords of French. She tried to talk to him, partly by signs,partly in pidgin French, which, for some reason, she thoughtwould be more comprehensible to him, and she had half a dozenphrases of English. She made me translate what she could onlyexpress in her own tongue, and eagerly asked for the meaningof his replies. He was quite good-tempered, a little amused,but his indifference was obvious."I think you've made a conquest," I laughed."I'm not flattered."In his place I should have been more embarrassed and less calm.She had laughing eyes and a most charming mouth.She was young. I wondered what she found so attractive inStrickland. She made no secret of her desires, and I wasbidden to translate."She wants you to go home with her.""I'm not taking any," he replied.I put his answer as pleasantly as I could. It seemed to me alittle ungracious to decline an invitation of that sort,and I ascribed his refusal to lack of money."But I like him," she said. "Tell him it's for love."When I translated this, Strickland shrugged his shoulders impatiently."Tell her to go to hell," he said.His manner made his answer quite plain, and the girl threwback her head with a sudden gesture. Perhaps she reddenedunder her paint. She rose to her feet."Monsieur n'est pas poli," she said.She walked out of the inn. I was slightly vexed."There wasn't any need to insult her that I can see," I said."After all, it was rather a compliment she was paying you.""That sort of thing makes me sick," he said roughly.I looked at him curiously. There was a real distaste in hisface, and yet it was the face of a coarse and sensual man.I suppose the girl had been attracted by a certain brutality in it.I could have got all the women I wanted in London. I didn'tcome here for that."