She
said she was one of a party who went one night to dine at a little
cafe much frequented by artists and art students. The host was
himself an artist of reputation. As they dined there entered a
tall, gloomy figure of a man with a long, ugly face full of flexible
wrinkles; such a figure and such a face as instantly commanded
their attention. This man slid into a seat at a table near their
table and had a frugal meal. He had reached the stage of demitasse
and cigarette when he laid down cup and cigarette and, fetching a
bit of cardboard and a crayon out of his pocket, began putting
down lines and shadings; between strokes he covertly studied the
profile of the man who was giving the dinner party. Not to be
outdone the artist hauled out his drawing pad and pencil and made
a quick sketch of the long-faced man. Both finished their jobs
practically at the same moment; and, rising together with low bows,
they exchanged pictures--each had done a rattling good caricature
of the other--and then, without a word having been spoken or a
move made toward striking up an acquaintance, each man sat him
down again and finished his dinner.
The lone diner departed first. When the party at the other table
had had their coffee they went round the corner to a little circus
--one of the common type of French circuses, which are housed in
permanent wooden buildings instead of under tents.
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