“It would be very kind of you to introduce me.” He had said these last words and the sentence which preceded them loud enough for Sarah to hear, and as she turned towards them, Edouard was unable to escape: “Sarah, the Comte de Passavant desires the honour of your acquaintance,” said he with a forced smile. Passavant had sent for three fresh glasses, which he filled with kummel. They all four drank Olivier’s health. The bottle was almost empty, and as Sarah was astonished to see the crystals remaining at the bottom, Passavant tried to dislodge them with a straw. A strange kind of clown, with a befloured face, a black beady eye, and hair plastered down on his head like a skull-cap, came up. “You won’t do it,” he said, munching out each one of his syllables with an effort which was obviously assumed. “Pass me the bottle. I’ll smash it.” He seized it, broke it with a blow against the window ledge, and presenting the bottom of the bottle to Sarah: “With a few of these little sharp-edged polyhedra, the charming young lady will easily induce a perforation of her gizzard.” “Who is that pierrot?” she asked Passavant, who had made her sit down and was sitting beside her. “It’s Alfred Jarry, the author of _Ubu Roi_. The _Argonauts_ have dubbed him a genius because the public have just damned his play. All the same, it’s the most interesting thing that’s been put on the stage for a long time.” “I like _Ubu Roi_ very much,” said Sarah, “and I’m delighted to see Jarry. I had heard he was always drunk.” “I should think he must be to-night. I saw him drink two glasses of neat absinthe at dinner. He doesn’t seem any the worse for it. Won’t you have a cigarette? One has to smoke oneself so as not to be smothered by the other people’s smoke.” He bent towards her to give her a light. She crunched a few of the crystals. “Why! it’s nothing but sugar candy,” said she, a little disappointed. “I hoped it was going to be something strong.” All the time she was talking to Passavant, she kept smiling at Bernard, who had stayed beside her. Her dancing eyes shone with an extraordinary brightness. Bernard, who had not been able to see her before because of the dark, was struck by her likeness to Laura. The same forehead, the same lips.... In her features, it is true, there breathed a less angelic grace, and her looks stirred he knew not what troubled depths in his heart. Feeling a little uncomfortable, he turned to Olivier: “Introduce me to your friend Bercail.”