CROSSING PARIS
559
premolars, to the number of five or six. The thing appeared more
remarkable to him, since in his eyes gold teeth were an ornament
rather than a convenience. For a long time, although he had very
sound teeth, he had dreamed of having some of them extracted and
of getting his jaw trimmed with gold. It gave him pleasure to imagine
how rich and at the same time tasteful the ensemble would be, his
black hat with the rolled brim and a gold-adorned jaw. It is often
just such small details, he thought, that make one an individual,
besides the fact that women are very fond of kisses that taste of
prosperity. When he saw his own dream gleaming in the mouth of
the ram he experienced a feeling of melancholy, the suffering of a
ruined aristocrat who sees his family jewels displayed on the breast
.and on the hands of a common grocer's wife.
The belote players had gone out, firing a broadside of insults
behind them at the moment of crossing the threshold. The scribbler
who had sat by the little stove disappeared in his turn. Standing
behind his counter, the bartender shot impatient glances at the valise
carriers, while his wife was bestowing her knitting in the cash drawer.
Martin had already swallowed his mulled wine and paid the bill.
But the ram showed no haste to depart. After the first swallow, he
took from his pocket the pack of cigarettes that
J
amblier had placed
there, and took one of them. Martin was watching his gestures with
a kind of perverse anxiety, hoping that his assistant would furnish
still further reasons for hating him. He was not disappointed. This
pack of cigarettes which was their common property Grandgil re–
turned to his pocket without the least apparent embarrassment. Nor
was it done through absentmindedness. From between his lowered
eyelids he was watching his neighbor curiously. Martin thought it
beneath his dignity to take any notice. While the other man was light–
ing a cigarette, he had the presence of mind to remark a detail which
had escaped him till that moment. Below the frayed and dirty edge of
the coat sleeve could be seen the wristband of a shirt, and this was
surprisingly clean, and of a fine silky material. At this moment a little
girl about ten years old, her head tied up in a scarf, and a black
cape laid across her shoulders, came into the cafe and went behind
the counter. While she was talking in a low voice to the woman her
cape slipped back, disclosing the yellow star of David sewed to the
