finger and thumb, the little toy seemed to move with a tiny start and it occurred to me suddenly that this might be the scorpion. Goethe seemed to read my thought, and even to have wanted to cause this deep timidity, this hectic struggle between desire and dread. He held the provoking little scorpion close to my face and watched me start forward with desire, then start back with dread; and this seemed to divert him exceedingly. While he was teasing me with the charming, dangerous thing, he became quite old once more, very, very old, a thousand years old, with hair as white as snow, and his withered greybeard’s face laughed a still and soundless laughter that shook him to the depths with abysmal old man’s humour.
When I woke I had forgotten the dream; it did not come back to me till later. I had slept for nearly an hour, as I never thought I could possibly have done at a café-table with the music and the bustle all round me. The dear girl stood in front of me with one hand on my shoulder.
“Give me two or three marks,” she said. “I’ve spent something in there.”
I gave her my purse. She took it and was soon back again.
“Well, now I can sit with you for a little and then I have to go. I have an engagement.”
I was alarmed.
“With whom?” I asked quickly.
“With a man, my dear Harry. He has invited me to the Odéon Bar.”
“Oh! I didn’t think you would leave me alone.”
“Then you should have invited me yourself. Someone has got in before you. Well, there’s good money saved. Do you know the Odéon? Nothing but champagne after midnight. Armchairs like at a club, nigger band, jolly fine.”