She got up abruptly, went over to the shelf that ran around the wall and got her purse. She opened it, took out a roll of bills, and coming back tossed them on the table before him.
“But mademoiselle”—he stammered, unable to believe his good luck, his eyes glued upon the roll of bills in a stare of hypnotic fascination.
“Give me a receipt,” she said.
“Comment?” he looked puzzled for a moment, then cried, “Ah-h! Un reçu! Mais oui, mais oui, mademoiselle! Tout de suite!”
Trembling with frantic haste he scrawled out a receipt on a sheet of yellow paper, gave it to her, clutched the banknotes with a trembling claw, and stuffed them in his wallet.
“Now get out,” said Ann.
“Mademoiselle?” he scrambled hastily to his feet, clutched his briefcase and his hat, and looked nervously at her—“vous dites?”
“Get out of here,” she said, and began to move slowly towards him.
He scrambled for the door like a frightened cat, stammering:
“Mais oui… mais parfaitement… mais”—he almost stumbled going down the steps, glancing back with nervous apprehension as he went. She shut the door behind him, came back, sat down in her chair, and stared sullenly at her plate, saying nothing. Starwick was crimson in the face, but did not look at anyone and did not speak. Elinor was busy with her napkin: she had lifted it to her face and was holding it firmly across her mouth. From time to time her breast and stomach and her heavy shoulders trembled in a kind of shuddering convulsion, smothered and explosive snorts and gasps came from her.
It got too much for her: they heard a faint, choked shriek, she rose and rushed blindly across the room, entered the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. And then they heard peal after peal of laughter, shrieks and whoops and yells of it, and finally a dead silence, broken at times by exhausted gasps. Ann continued to look sullenly and miserably at her plate. As for Starwick, he sat there wearily detached, impassive, magnificent as always, but his face had the hue and colour of boiled lobster.
LXXXII
One night, in a small bar or bistro upon the hill of Montmartre, Starwick met a young Frenchman who was to become the companion of his adventures in many strange and devious ways thereafter. It was about four
