Читать книгу The Complete Works of F. Scott Fitzgerald онлайн

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François—(hoarsely) Don’t you see, he stood for us as well as for himself.

Lamarque—(rising excitedly and walking up and down) There we were—four men—three of us poor dreamers—artistically uneducated, practically illiterate. (He turns savagely to Chandelle and speaks almost menacingly.) Do you realize that I can neither read nor write? Do you realize that back of François there, despite his fine phrases, there is a character weak as water, a mind as shallow as—

(François starts up angrily.)

Lamarque—Sit down. (François sits down muttering.)

François—(after a pause) But, Monsieur, you must know—I leave the gift of—of—(helplessly) I can’t name it—appreciation, artistic, aesthetic sense—call it what you will. Weak—yes, why not? Here I am, with no chance, the world against me. I lie—I steal perhaps—I am drunk—I—

(Destage fills up François’ glass with wine.)

Destage—Here! Drink that and shut up! You are boring the gentleman. There is his weak side—poor infant.

(Chandelle, who has listened to the last, keenly turns his chair toward Destage.)