“It is understandable,” said the oldest porter. “I understand it.”
“None of you gentlemen is divorced?” Johnson asked. He had stopped clowning with the language and was speaking good French now and had been for some time.
“No,” said the porter who had ordered Sportsman. “They don’t divorce much here. There are gentlemen who are divorced but not many.”
“With us,” said Johnson, “it’s different. Practically every one is divorced.”
“That’s true,” the porter confirmed. “I’ve read it in the paper.”
“I myself am somewhat in retard,” Johnson went on. “This is the first time I have been divorced. I am thirty-five.”
“Mais vous êtes encore jeune,” said the porter. He explained to the two others. “Monsieur n’a que trente-cinq ans.” The other porters nodded. “He’s very young,” said one.
“And it is really the first time you’ve been divorced?” asked the porter.
“Absolutely,” said Johnson. “Please open the wine, mademoiselle.”
“And is it very expensive?”
“Ten thousand francs.”
“Swiss money?”
“No, French money.”
“Oh, yes. Two thousand francs Swiss. All the same it’s not cheap.”
“No.”
“And why does one do it?”
“One is asked to.”
“But why do they ask that?”
“To marry someone else.”
“But it’s idiotic.”
“I agree with you,” said Johnson. The waitress filled the four glasses. They all raised them.
“Prosit,” said Johnson.
