ATfiveo'clockIwasintheHotelCrillonwaitingforBrett.Shewasnotthere,soIsatdownandwrotesomeletters.TheywerenotverygoodlettersbutIhopedtheirbeingonCrillonstationerywouldhelpthem.Brettdidnotturnup,soaboutquartertosixIwentdowntothebarandhadaJackRosewithGeorgethebarman.Bretthadnotbeeninthebareither,andsoIlookedforherup-stairsonmywayout,andtookataxitotheCaféSelect.CrossingtheSeineIsawastringofbargesbeingtowedemptydownthecurrent,ridinghigh,thebargemenatthesweepsastheycametowardthebridge.Theriverlookednice.ItwasalwayspleasantcrossingbridgesinParis.
Thetaxiroundedthestatueoftheinventorofthesemaphoreengagedindoingsame,andturneduptheBoulevardRaspail,andIsatbacktoletthatpartoftheridepass.TheBoulevardRaspailalwaysmadedullriding.ItwaslikeacertainstretchontheP.L.M.betweenFontainebleauandMontereauthatalwaysmademefeelboredanddeadanddulluntilitwasover.Isupposeitissomeassociationofideasthatmakesthosedeadplacesinajourney.ThereareotherstreetsinParisasuglyastheBoulevardRaspail.ItisastreetIdonotmindwalkingdownatall.ButIcannotstandtoridealongit.PerhapsIhadreadsomethingaboutitonce.ThatwasthewayRobertCohnwasaboutallofParis.IwonderedwhereCohngotthatincapacitytoenjoyParis.PossiblyfromMencken.MenckenhatesParis,Ibelieve.SomanyyoungmengettheirlikesanddislikesfromMencken.
ThetaxistoppedinfrontoftheRotonde.NomatterwhatcaféinMontparnasseyouaskataxi-drivertobringyoutofromtherightbankoftheriver,theyalwaystakeyoutotheRotonde.TenyearsfromnowitwillprobablybetheDome.Itwasnearenough,anyway.IwalkedpastthesadtablesoftheRotondetotheSelect.Therewereafewpeopleinsideatthebar,andoutside,alone,satHarveyStone.Hehadapileofsaucersinfrontofhim,andheneededashave.
Sitdown,saidHarvey,I'vebeenlookingforyou.
What'sthematter?
Nothing.Justlookingforyou.
Beenouttotheraces?
No.NotsinceSunday.
WhatdoyouhearfromtheStates?
Nothing.Absolutelynothing.
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