government had already declared a moratorium, in order to prevent a
general bankruptcy due to the general panic. When would they pay him?
. . . Perhaps when the war which had not yet begun was ended--perhaps
never. He had no other money available except the two thousand francs
left over from his travelling expenses. All of his friends were in the
same distressing situation, unable to draw on the sums which they had in
the banks. Those who had any money were obliged to go from shop to shop,
or form in line at the bank doors, in order to get a bill changed. Oh,
this war! This stupid war!

In the Champs Elysees, they saw a man with a broad-brimmed hat who
was walking slowly ahead of them and talking to himself. Argensola
recognized him as he passed near the street lamp, "Friend Tchernoff."
Upon returning their greeting, the Russian betrayed a slight odor of
wine. Uninvited, he had adjusted his steps to theirs, accompanying them
toward the Arc de Triomphe.

Julio had merely exchanged silent nods with Argensola's new acquaintance
when encountering him in the vestibule; but sadness softens the heart
and makes us seek the friendship of the humble as a refreshing shelter.
Tchernoff, on the contrary, looked at Desnoyers as though he had known
him all his life.

The man had interrupted his monologue, heard only by the black masses
of vegetation, the blue shadows perforated by the reddish tremors of
the street lights, the summer night with its cupola of warm breezes and
twinkling stars. He took a few steps without saying anything, as a mark
of consideration to his companions, and then renewed his arguments,
taking them up where he had broken off, without offering any
explanation, as though he were still talking to himself. . . .