I did not seeStrickland for several weeks. I was disgusted with him, and if I had had anopportunity should have been glad to tell him so, but I saw no object inseeking him out for the purpose. I am a little shy of any assumption of moralindignation; there is always in it an element of self-satisfaction which makesit awkward to anyone who has a sense of humour. It requires a very livelypassion to steel me to my own ridicule. There was a sardonic sincerity inStrickland which made me sensitive to anything that might suggest a pose.

But one eveningwhen I was passing along the Avenue de Clichy in front of the cafe whichStrickland frequented and which I now avoided, I ran straight into him. He wasaccompanied by Blanche Stroeve, and they were just going to Strickland'sfavourite corner.

"Where thedevil have you been all this time?" said he. "I thought you must beaway. "

His cordialitywas proof that he knew I had no wish to speak to him. He was not a man withwhom it was worth while wasting politeness.

"No," I said; "I haven't been away. "

"Whyhaven't you been here?"

"There aremore cafes in Paris than one, at which to trifle away an idle hour. "

我有好几个星期没有见到思特里克兰德。我非常厌恶他，如果有机会的话，我会当着面把我对他的看法告诉他，但是我也犯不上为了这件事特地到处去找他。我不太愿意摆出一副义愤填膺的架势来，这里面总有某种自鸣得意的成分，会叫一个有幽默感的人觉得你在装腔作势。除非我真的动起火来，我是不肯让别人拿自己当笑话看的。思特里克兰德惯会讽刺挖苦、不讲情面，在他面前我就更要小心戒备，绝不能让他觉得我是在故作姿态。

但是一天晚上，正当我经过克利舍路一家咖啡馆门前的时候（我知道这是思特里克兰德经常来的一家咖啡馆，最近一段时间我总是尽量躲着这个地方），我却和思特里克兰德撞了个满怀。勃朗什·施特略夫同他在一起，两人正在走向思特里克兰德最喜欢坐的一个角落去。

“你这么多天跑到哪儿去了？”他问我说，“我还以为你到外地去了呢。”

他对我这样殷勤正表示他知道得很清楚，我不愿意理他。但是你对思特里克兰德这种人根本不需要讲客套。

“没有，”我直截了当地说，“我没有到外地去。”

“为什么老没到这儿来了？”

“巴黎的咖啡馆不是只此一家，在哪儿不能消磨时间啊？”