560
PARTISAN REVIEW
left side of her sweater. Martin, .at sight of the badge, thought that
perhaps there was a raid on the Jews in that quarter, and feared a
dragnet of police with French and German inspectors. The bartender,
who had followed the direction of his glance, divined his anxiety and
reassured him. The little girl lived in the building, and w.as accustomed
to do errands for her parents. Having thus appeased the fears of
his customer, he felt entitled to a certain familiarity, and indicating
the valises, he inquired:
"Is that tobacco?"
"No," replied Grangil, "it's meat. Fresh pork, and practically
for nothing. I'll sell it to you at a hundred and fifty a kilogram."
"Don't listen to him," said Martin to the bartender, who was
looking interested. "He's talking tommyrot. That meat is already
sold."
"Don't worry, I knew he wasn't serious. And besides, I don't
buy like that, without knowing. The price isn't everything. You have
to make sure that the deal is on the level. I would have plenty of
chances if I wanted to take them, but in my game, I have to be
careful. I'm losing money by being honest, mark that. But I'd rather
have my conscience clear."
"Aside from that," declared Grandgil in a severe tone, "You
receive Jews in your establishment. A public establishment. At eleven
o'clock at night.
If
that isn't shameful! You deserve to be denounced,
to teach you a lesson. I've a great mind to do it, that's a fact."
The little girl had readjusted her cape, and was slipping toward
the exit. The uneasy couple avoided looking at the ram, and neither
spoke nor moved. Their absent expression was like that of soldiers
who find themselves the object of the unjust fury of an adjutant.
"Pay no attention," said Martin. "He's talking through his hat."
.Swallowing the last mouthful of wine, the ram, his head thrown
back and
his
eyes watchful, was enjoying the reaction of the bartender
.and his wife. His mirth drew two furrows across his temples, pro–
longing the slit of his eyelids.
"People who have no more conscience than that, they make me
sick," he went on in the same tone. "What good does it do to make
laws,
if
they are not respected? Out of my sight, rabble, trash! I'd
put you in a damned prison, I would. I wouldn't hesitate. In prison.
Blackguards, anarchists, disloyal Frenchmen.... "
