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Updated: May 8, 2025
The cold douche that followed, freezing his palpitating flesh, reminded him of the baths of his twentieth year, when he used to plunge head first into the Seine from the bridges in the suburbs, in order to amaze the bourgeois passers-by. "Shall you dine here?" inquired Maldant. "Yes." "We have a table with Liverdy, Rocdiane, and Landa; make haste; it is a quarter past seven."
When the five friends were seated the banker Liverdy, a vigorous and hearty man of forty, said to Bertin: "You were in fine form this evening." "Yes, I could have done surprising things to-day," Bertin replied.
But Liverdy, more skeptical, and pretending to know exactly what women were worth, murmured: "Yes, they tell you that they adore you!" "They prove it to me, my dear fellow," exclaimed Landa. "Such proofs don't count." "They suffice me!" "But, sacrebleu! they do mean it," cried Rocdiane.
Others rested and chatted, still out of breath, red and perspiring, with handkerchief in hand to wipe off faces and necks; others, seated on a square divan that ran along the four sides of the hall, watched the fencing Liverdy against Landa, and the master of the club, Taillade, against the tall Rocdiane. Bertin, smiling, quite at home, shook hands with several men.
The Marquis de Rocdiane allowed the names of his inamoratas to be guessed by unmistakable hints society women whose names he did not utter, so that their identity might be the better surmised. The banker Liverdy indicated his flames by their first names. He would say: "I was at that time the best of friends with the wife of a diplomat.
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