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PARTISAN REVIEW
both, and I should feel hurt. Let us think first of our valises. Between
us, until we get them to the butcher it's life or death."
Grandgil put his hand in his pocket and drew out J amblier's
five thousand francs, which he extended to Martin:
"While I think of it-you will return this to the idiot who let
go of it. You'll be doing him a favor."
Martin took the five thousand francs and placed them carefully
in his billfold.
"When we get to the butcher's, I will pay you the four hundred
and fifty francs, as Jamblier and I agreed."
"I will remind you of it
if
you chance to forget. Now, sit down.
I'm going to heat some coffee for us while we wait for the alert to
be over."
Martin sat down in an armchair. Now that he was alone, he
tried to draw up the balance sheet of his impressions and of his
grievances, but fatigue and a certain disgust, as
if
life had left a bad
taste in his mouth, benumbed his faculties and kept him from reaching
any conclusion. The restoration of the five thousand francs which
were originally at the bottom of his resentment should have counted
among the ram's assets. Far from being appeased by it, this unex–
pected gesture irritated Martin as a new betrayal. The conduct of
his assistant had done him no serious hann, and his resentment,
which was vague and inconsistent, was directed chiefly toward an
attitude, a way of life. He felt too, in his bitterness, an exasperating
curiosity as to the source of this irony in which Grandgil unfailingly
entrenched himself, as well as with regard to the mysterious double
identity of the painter. His connection with Grandgil now seemed
to
him
only a succession of ambiguities and perplexities. Martin
finally fell asleep under the impression that he had been imposed
upon.
Coming back into the studio, Grandgil stood still to contem–
plate his sleeping associate. Martin was snoring, his mouth half open,
his
hands flat on the arms of the chair, his head and body bolt up–
right, his black hat pushed a little way back. Grangil approached
noiselessly, opened a sketch book and began to draw. With a sus–
tained, almost continuous stroke, he traced first the outline of the
bust; then with the same deliberation, ponderous but sure, he brought
animation to Martin's round face. He seemed satisfied with his work.
