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Updated: May 9, 2025
Phyllis watched it with the eyes of a cat. Every now and then she watched also the door. The place was much fuller now. Mademoiselle Flossie had arrived with a small company of friends from Maxim's. The music was playing all the time. The popping of corks was almost incessant, the volume of sound had swelled. The laughter and greeting of friends betrayed more abandon than earlier in the evening.
Always normal that had been his boast; never losing his head over this thing or that. It was the only way a man could keep from worrying. It was the only way a man could keep sane. The moment you wanted anything like the devil, then the devil was to pay. This evening he had proved that. He went back to the affair at Maxim's. He should have known better than to take her there, anyway.
It was true that hitherto he had not much cared, and when he had been given the "go-by" he had always reflected that there were as good fish in the sea, and so on; but that wasn't the case now. Thinking deeply, he had reached the entrance of Maxim's without knowing it, but looking in, he turned away in disgust; he had no desire to face the crowd inside, he wanted to think things over.
I was assured that the patronage had so fallen away from the Moulin Rouge that they were planning to turn it into a decent theater. Nor during my sojourn did anybody in my hearing so much as mention the Dead Rat. I doubt whether it is still in existence. The last time I was in Maxim's quite a dozen years ago now a young woman sat next to me whose story could be read in her face.
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