I saw her in the theatre. I sat down beside her during the interval. It was long since I had last seen her and if someone had mentioned her name I hardly think I would have recognized her. She addressed me brightly.
“Well, it is many years since we first met. How time does fly! Do you remember the first time I saw you? You asked me to luncheon.” Did I remember? It was twenty years ago and I was living in Paris. I had a small apartment in a Latin Quarter and I was earning only just enough money to keep body and sole together. She had read a book of mine and had written to me about it. I answered, thanked her, and presently I received from her another letter saying that she was passing through Paris and would like to have a chat with me. Would I give her a little luncheon at Foyot’s? Foyot’s is a restaurant at which the French senators eat and it was so far beyond my means that I had never even thought of going there. But I was flattered and was too young to have learned to say no to a woman. I had eighty francs (gold francs) to last me the rest of the month and a decent luncheon should not cost more than fifteen. If I stopped drinking coffee for the next two weeks I could manage well enough.
I answered that I would meet my friend at Foyot’s on Thursday at half past twelve. She was not so young as I expected. She was in fact a woman of forty and she gave me the impression of having more teeth than were necessary for any practical purpose. She talked a lot, but since she seemed inclined to talk about me I was prepared to be an attentive listener.
I was startled when the menu was brought, for the prices were a good deal higher than I had expected. But she assured me. “I never eat anything for luncheon,” she said.