However, it was nothing of the kind.
He wanted to discuss a project he had in view, though so far he’d come to no decision.
It was to open a branch at Paris, so as to be able to deal with the big companies on the spot, without postal delays, and he wanted to know if I’d like a post there. “You’re a young man,” he said, “and I’m pretty sure you’d enjoy living in Paris. And, of course, you could travel about France for some months in the year.”
I told him I was quite prepared to go; but really I didn’t care much one way or the other.
He then asked if a “change of life,” as he called it, didn’t appeal to me, and I answered that one never changed his way of life; one life was as good as another, and my present one suited me quite well.
At this he looked rather hurt, and told me that I always shilly-shallied, and that I lacked ambition—a grave defect, to his mind, when one was in business.
I returned to my work.
I’d have preferred not to vex him, but I saw no reason for “changing my life.”
By and large it wasn’t an unpleasant one.
As a student I’d had plenty of ambition of the kind he meant.
But, when I had to drop my studies, I very soon realized all that was pretty futile.
Marie came that evening and asked me if I’d marry her.
I said I didn’t mind; if she was keen on it, we’d get married.
Then she asked me again if I loved her.
I replied, much as before, that her question meant nothing or next to nothing—but I supposed I didn’t.
“If that’s how you feel,” she said, “why marry me?”
I explained that it had no importance really, but, if it would give her pleasure, we could get married right away.
I pointed out that, anyhow, the suggestion came from her; as for me, I’d merely said, “Yes.”
Then she remarked that marriage was a serious matter.
To which I answered:
“No.”
She kept silent after that, staring at me in a curious way.
Then she asked:
“Suppose another girl had asked you to marry her—I mean, a girl you liked in the same way as you like me—would you have said ‘Yes’ to her, too?”
“Naturally.”
Then she said she wondered if she really loved me or not.
I, of course, couldn’t enlighten her as to that.
And, after another silence, she murmured something about my being “a queer fellow.” “And I daresay that’s why I love you,” she added. “But maybe that’s why one day I’ll come to hate you.”
To which I had nothing to say, so I said nothing. She thought for a bit, then started smiling and, taking my arm, repeated that she was in earnest; she really wanted to marry me.
“All right,” I answered. “We’ll get married whenever you like.”
I then mentioned the proposal made by my employer, and Marie said she’d love to go to Paris.
When I told her I’d lived in Paris for a while, she asked me what it was like.
“A dingy sort of town, to my mind.
Masses of pigeons and dark courtyards.
And the people have washed-out, white faces.”
Then we went for a walk all the way across the town by the main streets.
The women were good-lookers, and I asked Marie if she, too, noticed this.
She said, “Yes,” and that she saw what I meant.
After that we said nothing for some minutes.
However, as I didn’t want her to leave me, I suggested we should dine together at Celeste’s.
She’d have loved to dine with me, she said, only she was booked up for the evening.
We were near my place, and I said,
“Au revoir, then.”
She looked me in the eyes.
“Don’t you want to know what I’m doing this evening?”
I did want to know, but I hadn’t thought of asking her, and I guessed she was making a grievance of it.
I must have looked embarrassed, for suddenly she started laughing and bent toward me, pouting her lips for a kiss.
I went by myself to Celeste’s.
When I had just started my dinner an odd-looking little woman came in and asked if she might sit at my table.
Of course she might.