They never were
here before,--these types of men with eyes looking for quick money,
for instantaneous riches, for some "_affaires du ravitaillement
militaire_." Yesterday's poor chaps, that would not know the
difference between a cotelette and a jigot are ordering and
easily eating things that it would take me some time to think of.
Democratisation of French cooking, or vulgarisation of exclusive
tastes (?) which?
I met Frank at Cubat's.... Heaven knows how he got released from
custody. I could not help it when he approached my table and greeted
me; I asked him whether he had heard anything from Colonel Makevich.
He asked me about Maroossia, so one thing led to another, and finally
the waiter brought a chair. "Can I join you?" he asked. I growled
something like "delighted" and so he sat down. The conversation at
first was rather general, and then suddenly:
"Did you hear anything of the Baroness B's. case, and how is she now?"
he said.
This unexpected question put Frank in a new light. I had to take
several puffs of my cigarette to think over my answer. Frank gave me
time to prepare the response in giving orders to the maitre d'hotel.
Quite a bit of time elapsed after he questioned me. I hoped for an
instant that he was going to forget about it, but, alas, when he was
through with his orders (from which I understood that he either had
become rich, or expected me to pay his check) he looked at me and
repeated:
"Yes, sir, did you hear anything new of the poor Baroness?"
"Well," I replied, "the only thing that we all know: she is in jail.
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