Andrews went to the window in his stockinged feet. Paris way a slate-grey and dove-color lay spread out like a Turkish carpet, with a silvery band of mist where the river was, out of which the Eiffel Tower stood up like a man wading. Here and there blue smoke and brown spiralled up to lose itself in the faint canopy of brown fog that hung high above the houses. Andrews stood a long while leaning against the window frame, until he heard Henslowe's voice behind him: “Depuis le jour ou je me suis donnee.” “You look like 'Louise.'” Andrews turned round. Henslowe was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hair in disorder, combing his little silky mustache with a pocket comb. “Gee, I have a head,” he said. “My tongue feels like a nutmeg grater.... Doesn't yours?” “No. I feel like a fighting cock.” “What do you say we go down to the Seine and have a bath in Benny Franklin's bathtub?” “Where's that? It sounds grand.” “Then we'll have the biggest breakfast ever.” “That's the right spirit.... Where's everybody gone to?” “Old Heinz has gone to his Moki, I guess, and Aubrey's gone to collect more dope at the Crillon. He says four in the morning when the drunks come home is the prime time for a newspaper man.” “And the Monkish man?” “Search me.” The streets were full of men and girls hurrying to work. Everything sparkled, had an air of being just scrubbed. They passed bakeries from which came a rich smell of fresh-baked bread. From cafes came whiffs of roasting coffee. They crossed through the markets that were full of heavy carts lumbering to and fro, and women with net bags full of vegetables. There was a pungent scent of crushed cabbage leaves and carrots and wet clay. The mist was raw and biting along the quais, and made the blood come into their cheeks and their hands stiff with cold. The bathhouse was a huge barge with a house built on it in a lozenge shape. They crossed to it by a little gangplank on which were a few geraniums in pots. The attendant gave them two rooms side by side on the lower deck, painted grey, with steamed over windows, through which Andrews caught glimpses of hurrying green water. He stripped his clothes off quickly. The tub was of copper varnished with some white metal inside. The water flowed in through two copper swans' necks. When Andrews stepped into the hot green water, a little window in the partition flew open and Henslowe shouted in to him: “Talk about modern conveniences. You can converse while you bathe!” Andrews scrubbed himself jauntily with a square piece of pink soap, splashing the water about like a small boy. He stood up and lathered himself all over and then let himself slide into the water, which splashed out over the floor. “Do you think you're a performing seal?” shouted Henslowe.