The Sun Also Rises Read Free Page A

said. “Maybe you would rather go to Foyot’s. Why don’t you keep the cab and go on?”

    I had picked her up because of a vague sentimental idea that it would be nice to eat with someone. It was a long time since I had dined with a
poule,
and I had forgotten how dull it could be. We went into the restaurant, passed Madame Lavigne at the desk and into a little room. Georgette cheered up a little under the food.

    â€œIt isn’t bad here,” she said. “It isn’t chic, but the food is all right.”

    â€œBetter than you eat in Liège.”

    â€œBrussels, you mean.”

    We had another bottle of wine and Georgette made a joke. She smiled and showed all her bad teeth, and we touched glasses. “You’re not a bad type,” she said. “It’s a shame you’re sick. We get on well. What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

    â€œI got hurt in the war,” I said.

    â€œOh, that dirty war.”

    We would probably have gone on and discussed the war and agreed that it was in reality a calamity for civilization, and perhaps would have been better avoided. I was bored enough. Just then from the other room someone called: “Barnes! I say, Barnes! Jacob Barnes!”

    â€œIt’s a friend calling me,” I explained, and went out.

    There was Braddocks at a big table with a party: Cohn, Frances Clyne, Mrs. Braddocks, several people I did not know.

    â€œYou’re coming to the dance, aren’t you?” Braddocks asked.

    â€œWhat dance?”

    â€œWhy, the dancings. Don’t you know we’ve revived them?” Mrs. Braddocks put in.

    â€œYou must come, Jake. We’re all going,” Frances said from the end of the table. She was tall and had a smile.

    â€œOf course, he’s coming,” Braddocks said. “Come in and have coffee with us, Barnes.”

    â€œRight.”

    â€œAnd bring your friend,” said Mrs. Braddocks laughing. She was a Canadian and had all their easy social graces.

    â€œThanks, we’ll be in,” I said. I went back to the small room.

    â€œWho are your friends?” Georgette asked.

    â€œWriters and artists.”

    â€œThere are lots of those on this side of the river.”

    â€œToo many.”

    â€œI think so. Still, some of them make money.”

    â€œOh, yes.”

    We finished the meal and the wine. “Come on,” I said. ‘We’re going to have coffee with the others.”

    Georgette opened her bag, made a few passes at her face as she looked in the little mirror, re-defined her lips with the lipstick, and straightened her hat.

    â€œGood,” she said.

    We went into the room full of people and Braddocks and the men at his table stood up.

    â€œI wish to present my fiancée, Mademoiselle Georgette Leblanc,” I said. Georgette smiled that wonderful smile, and we shook hands all round.

    â€œAre you related to Georgette Leblanc, the singer?” Mrs. Braddocks asked.

    â€œConnais pas,” Georgette answered.

    â€œBut you have the same name,” Mrs. Eraddocks insisted cordially.

    â€œNo,” said Georgette. “Not at all. My name is Hobin.”

    â€œBut Mr. Barnes introduced you as Mademoiselle Georgette Leblanc. Surely he did,” insisted Mrs. Braddocks, who in the excitement of talking French was liable to have no idea what she was saying.

    â€œHe’s a fool,” Georgette said.

    â€œOh, it was a joke, then,” Mrs. Braddocks said.

    â€œYes,” said Georgette. “To laugh at.”

    â€œDid you hear that, Henry?” Mrs. Braddocks called down the table to Braddocks. “Mr. Barnes introduced his fiancée as Mademoiselle Leblanc, and her name is actually Hobin.”

    â€œOf course, darling. Mademoiselle Hobin, I’ve known her for a very long time.”

    â€œOh, Mademoiselle Hobin,” Frances Clyne called, speaking French very rapidly and not seeming so