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Updated: June 8, 2025
Lady Auriol, myself and the car met punctually at the hotel door at ten o'clock. There was also a chasseur with Lady Auriol's dust-coat and binoculars, and a concierge with advice. We waited for Bakkus.
Andrew turned to Bakkus, who, with glasses lowered, was looking at him with hollow eyes from which the mockery had fled. "What's the matter?" asked Andrew. "The matter? Your running nightmare has won. Why the devil couldn't you have given me the tip? You must have known something. No one could play such a game without knowing. It's damned unfriendly." "Believe me, I had no tip," Andrew protested.
"What about Germany?" "Germany's never going to sacrifice her commercial position by going to war. Among great powers war is a lunatic anachronism." "Oh, mon Dieu," cried Elodie, "now you're talking politics." Bakkus took her hand which held a fork on which was prodded a gherkin they were at lunch and raised it to his lips. "Pardon, chere madame. It was this maniac of an Andre. He is mad or worse.
This conversation was typical of many which filled Elodie's head with an illusion of the brilliant genius of Horatio Bakkus. In spite of her peevishness she had a wholesome respect for Andrew for his honesty, his singleness of purpose, his gentle masterfulness. But, all the same, their common detection of the drill-sergeant in his nature formed a sympathetic bond between Bakkus and herself.
I a man of such indefinite morals that so long as I have mutton cutlets I don't in the least care who pays for them? Aren't you paying for this very mouthful now?" "You are welcome," replied Andrew with a grin, "to all the mutton that Elodie will give you." Elodie's only proclaimed grievance against Bakkus, whom otherwise she vastly admired, was his undisguised passion for free repasts.
He recalled his first talk with Bakkus, in which he had insisted that his mountebanking was an art, and with his hard-gained knowledge of life rejected the sophistry.
Some voice which he can't resist will soon say, 'Bingo, die for your country. And our good friend, without changing a muscle of his ugly face, will stretch himself out dead on the floor." "Truth," said Andrew, with a hard glint in his eyes, "does sometimes issue from the lips of a fool." Bakkus laughed, passing his hand over his silvering locks; but Elodie looked very serious.
"The first thing I did," he said, putting the letter back in his pocket, "was to ring up Bakkus, to see whether he could throw any light on the matter." "Bakkus why, he cut his engagement with us yesterday." "The damned scoundrel," said Lackaday, "was running away with Elodie."
"You can break your contract and I'll do without you," cried the furious Andrew. "I'm not going to break the contract, my young friend," replied Bakkus, peering at him through lowered eyelids. "When did I say such a thing? We end the damp and dripping folly of the sands." "We don't," said Andrew. "As you will," said Bakkus.
You'll have observed that I'm a man of nice discrimination. I choose my hogs. It is the Art of Life." "Well, here's to you," said Andrew, lifting up his glass. "And to you." Bakkus emptied his glass at a draught, breathed a sigh of infinite content and held it out to be refilled. "And now that I've told you the story of my life, what about you?
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