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Updated: April 30, 2025
"T'es bath, môme," I hear him say, as they pass me by.... The dance over, he towers above her for a brief second before he swaggers out.... Estelle smiles. Her lips move and she speaks quickly to Edouard, le petit.... He does not listen. Why should he listen to his gigolette? She is wasting her time here anyway.
He paid the consommation and started to leave without waiting for a reply, because he knew of my complaisance. I rose with him and we walked down the boulevard. "What is there to do in Paris in August but to enjoy oneself?" I asked. "I have made friends with an apache and his gigolette. We eat bread and cheese and drink bad wine on the fortifications.... In the afternoon I walk.
Whistling a bar or two of "Gigolette" he poured out two glasses of a pale straw-coloured liquid, then with the shaker poised over a third glass looked inquiringly at Esther. "What about you?" he invited. Esther hesitated and succumbed to the temptation. After all, why not? "As a resident of a dry country," she said, smiling, "I can't refuse."
He suggested a static picture, a thing of always, but I know it is not so, for even the next summer he had disappeared along with the bal and now he may have been shot in the Battle of the Marne or he may have murdered his gigolette and been transported to one of the French penal colonies.... An apache, en musicien! ... black cloth around his throat, hair parted in the middle, velours trousers; a vrai apache I tell you, a cool, cunning creature, shredded with cocaine and absinthe, monotonous in his virtuosity, playing the accordion.
Or, from an analysis of the character of some conspicuous personage he had known, he would break into an indecent song, or pass to an interchange of mildewed chaff with Gigolette. Yes, he was a gentleman.
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