Monsieur Monde Vanishes by Georges Simenon Page A

and suddenly she lost all desire for sleep. Her head propped on her hand, her elbow on the pillow, she gazed at him with fresh interest as if from now on she had acquired the right to call him to account.
    â€œWhat do you actually do?”
    And as he failed to grasp the exact meaning of the question, she went on:
    â€œYou told me, the first day, that you had private means. People in your position don’t go gallivanting about all by themselves. Or else surely they live in a different style.… What did you do before?”
    â€œBefore what?”
    â€œBefore you went off?”
    Thus she was making her way toward the truth as unfailingly as, landing in Nice in the middle of the night, she had made her way toward this hotel, where she was at home.
    â€œYou’ve got a wife.… You told me you had children.… How did you go off?”
    â€œI just went!”
    â€œDid you have a row with your wife?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIs she young?”
    â€œAbout my age.”
    â€œI understand.…”
    â€œWhat d’you understand?”
    â€œYou just wanted to have a good time! … And when you’ve spent all your money, or when you’re tired …”
    â€œNo … It’s not that.”
    â€œWhat happened, then?”
    And he replied, with a sense of shame, chiefly because he felt he was spoiling everything by such stupid words, blurted out on that tumbled bed, in front of those bared breasts that no longer tempted him: “I’d had enough of it.”
    â€œHave it your own way!” she sighed.
    She took this opportunity to slip behind the screen to wash, which she had been too lazy to do immediately after making love; from here she went on:
    â€œYou’re a funny sort of fellow!”
    He put on his clothes again. He no longer felt sleepy. He was not unhappy. This squalid drabness was all part of what he had been seeking.
    â€œWould you like to stay on at Nice?” she asked, emerging naked with a towel in her hand.
    â€œI don’t know.…”
    â€œYou’re not fed up with me too? … You know, you must tell me honestly. I keep wondering how we happen to have got hitched together.… It’s not really like me. Parsons has promised to look after me.… He’s in well with the man who runs the floor shows at the ‘Pingouin.’ … I shan’t be out of a job for long.…”
    Why was she talking of leaving him? He did not want that. He tried to tell her so.
    â€œIt suits me all right like this.…”
    She looked at him, as he tried to pull his braces over his shoulders, and she burst out laughing, the first time he had heard her laugh.
    â€œYou’re a scream! Well … When you feel like clearing off, you just say so.… If I may give you one piece of advice, it’s to buy yourself another outfit.… You’re not miserly, by any chance?”
    â€œNo …”
    â€œThen you’d do better to dress decently. If you like, I’ll go with you. Didn’t your wife have any taste at all?”
    She was lying down again, lighting a cigarette and sending the smoke up to the ceiling.
    â€œAbove all, if it’s a question of money, don’t be afraid to tell me.…”
    â€œI’ve got money.…”
    The bundle of notes, wrapped up in newspaper, was still in the suitcase, and he glanced at this instinctively. Since coming to Gerly’s he had given up locking it, for fear of offending his companion. Under pretext of looking for something in it, he made sure the bundle was still there.
    â€œAre you going out? Will you come back and get me about five o’clock?”
    That afternoon he spent sitting on a bench on the Promenade, his head bent, his eyes half closed in the sunshine, with the blue of the sea before him and the occasional flash of gulls’ wings as they crossed his horizon.
    He never stirred. Children played around him, and sometimes