凯瑟琳沿着湖走，往小旅馆去找弗格逊，我则坐在酒吧间里看报。酒吧间里备有舒服的皮椅，我就坐在一只皮椅上看报，一直到酒保来了。原来意军连塔利亚门托河都没守住。他们正在朝皮阿维河退却。我还记得皮阿维河。上前线去时，火车在圣多那附近跨过这条河。那儿河水又深又慢，相当狭窄。河下边是蚊蚋丛生的沼泽和运河。那儿有些可爱的别墅。战前我有一次上科丁那丹佩佐②去，曾在临河的山间走了几小时。从山上望下去，那河道倒像一条出鳟鱼的溪流，水流得很急，有一段段的浅滩，山岩阴影下有水潭。公路到了卡多雷就和河道岔开了。不晓得山岭上的军队撤退
时怎么下来的。酒保来了。
“葛雷非伯爵要找你，”他说。
“谁？”
“葛雷非伯爵。你还记得你上次来这儿碰到的那个老人吧。”
“他在这儿吗？”
“是的，和他的侄女一同来的。我告诉他你来了。他要你和他打弹子。”
“他在哪儿？”
“在散步。”
“他身体怎么样？”
“比从前更年轻啦。昨天夜里晚饭前，他喝了三杯香槟鸡尾酒呢。”
“他的弹子功夫呢？”
“很行。他打败了我。我说你来了，他很高兴。这儿没人跟他打弹子。”
葛雷非伯爵九十四岁了。他是梅特涅①那一辈的人，须发雪白，举止风雅。
他当过奥意两国的外交官，他的生日宴会是米兰社交界的大事。他眼看要活到一百岁，打得一手漂亮爽利的好弹子，与他那九十四岁的脆弱身体适成对比。我从前在施特雷沙碰见他，也是在旅游季节以后，我们边打弹子边喝香槟。这打弹子喝香槟的风俗太好了，当时他每百分让我十五分，还赢了我。
“你为什么不早告诉我他在这里？”
“我忘啦。”
“还有谁？”
“没有你认得的人了。旅馆里一共只有六位客人。”
“你现在有事吗？”
“没事。”
“那么钓鱼去吧。”
“我只能走开一个钟头。”
“来吧。把你的钓鱼线拿来。”
酒保披上一件上衣，我们就走出去。我们走到湖边，上了一条船，我划船，酒保坐在船尾放出线去钓湖上的鳟鱼——线的一头有一个旋转匙形的诱饵和一个沉重的铅锤。我沿着湖岸划船，酒保手里扯着线，时而朝前抖它一抖。从湖上看来，施特雷沙相当荒凉，一长排一长排光秃的树木、一座座大旅馆和关闭的别墅。我把船划出去，横跨湖面，划到美人岛①，紧挨着石壁，在那儿，湖水突然变深了，你看见岩壁在晶莹的湖水中低斜下去，接着我们又朝北划往渔人岛。太阳给一朵云遮住了，湖水黑暗平滑，冷气逼人。我们虽然看见水上有鱼上升时的一些涟漪，但是始终没有鱼来上钩。
② 巴罗美群岛是马焦莱湖上的一名胜地的名字。
① 指瑞士与意大利两国边境上的马焦莱湖。施特雷沙就在湖西。
我把船划到渔人岛对面的地方，那儿靠有几只船，有人在补鱼网。“我们去喝杯酒吧？”
“好的。”
我把船划拢石码头，酒保把钓鱼线收回来，卷好放在船底，把诱饵挂在船舷的上缘。我上了岸，把船拴好。我们走进一家小咖啡店，在一张没铺桌布的木桌边坐下，叫了两杯味美思。
“你船划得累了吧？”
“不累。”
“回去我划，”他说。
“我喜欢划。”
“也许由你来抓住钓线会转运。”
“好吧。”
“告诉我，战争怎么啦？”
“糟透了。”
“我倒不必去，我年纪太大，像葛雷非伯爵一样。”
“说不定你还去哩。”
“明年要征召我们这一级了。但是我不去。”
“那你怎么办？”
“出国去。我不去作战。我从前在阿比西尼亚①打过一次仗。完全没有意义。你为什么参加进去？”
“我不知道。我太傻了。”
“再来杯味美思吧？”
“好。”
酒保划船回去。我们到施特雷沙后边的湖上钓鱼，接着又划到离岸不远的地方试试。我握着绷紧的鱼线，感觉到那旋转中的诱饵在轻微抖动，眼睛望着十一月中的暗淡的湖水和荒凉的湖岸。酒保荡长桨，船每往前一冲，鱼线就跳动一下。一次有一条鱼来咬钩，钓线突然扳紧，往后死抖，我用手去拉，感觉到一条活蹦蹦的鳟鱼的分量，随后钓线又是有规则地跳动着。鱼溜啦。
“是大的吗？”
“相当大。”
“有一次我独自出来钓鱼，我用牙齿咬住钓线，猛不防一条鱼咬钩了，差点把我的嘴巴也扯破。”
“最好的办法还是把钓线绕在你的腿上，”我说。“那样有鱼上钩你既知道，而且用不到掉牙齿。”
我伸手到湖里去。湖水很冷。我们差不多到旅馆的对面了。“我得进去了，”酒保说，“赶十一点的班。鸡尾酒时间。”“好。”我把钓线拉回来，缠在一根棍子上，那棍子两头都有凹槽。酒保把船停放在石墙间的一小片水区中，用铁链和锁锁好。
① 科丁那丹佩佐是意大利北部阿尔卑斯山一冬季运动的胜地。
①梅特涅（1773—1859），奥地利帝国外交大臣，于拿破仑被打败后，组织“神圣同盟”，极力恢复欧洲的封建专制统治，摧残各民族解放运动和进步力量。
“你什么时候要用，”他说，“我就把钥匙给你。”
“谢谢。”
我们登岸走到旅馆，走进酒吧间。这天早上天还很早，我不想再喝酒，所以就上楼回房间去。侍女刚刚把房间收拾干净，凯瑟琳还没回来。我往床上一躺，什么事都不想。
凯瑟琳回来后，我们又是怡然自得。弗格逊在楼下，她说。她请她来吃中饭。
“我知道你不会在意的，”凯瑟琳说。
“没关系，”我说。
“怎么啦，亲爱的？”
“我不知道。”
“我知道。你闷得慌。你所有的只是我，而我又出去了。”
“这话不错。”
“对不起，亲爱的。一个人忽然失掉了他的一切，我知道那一定是很痛苦的。”
“我的生活本来是非常充实的，”我说。“现在你一不和我在一起，我在世界上就一无所有了。”
“但是我是要和你在一起的。我只出去了两小时啊。你真的完全没事可做吗？”
“我跟酒保钓鱼去了。”
“好玩吗？”
“好玩。”
“我不在的时候不要想我。”
“我在前线时就是这么办的。不过当时正有事情做。”
“你像个丢了职业的奥赛罗①，”她嘲笑我。“奥赛罗可是个黑人，”我说。“况且，我并不嫉妒。我只是爱你太深，对于旁的全没兴趣。”
“你做个好孩子，好好招待弗格逊行吗？”
“我待弗格逊一向很好，只要她别咒骂我。”
“要好好待她。想想我们的生活多么丰富。而她却一无所有。”“我们所有的，她也不见得要吧。”
“你是个聪明人，亲爱的，但你不大懂事。”
“我好好招待她就是啦。”
“我知道你肯的。你太可爱了。”
“饭后她不至于呆下去吧？”
“不会的。我想法子叫她走。”
“饭后我们回这儿楼上来。”
“自然啦。难道说我想的还不是这个？”
我们下楼和弗格逊一同吃中饭。弗格逊对这旅馆和饭厅的富丽堂皇，印象很深。我们吃了顿很好的午餐，还喝了两瓶卡普里白葡萄酒。葛雷非伯爵到饭厅里来，对我们点点头。陪着他的是他的侄女，她那模样有点像我的祖母。我把他的来历告诉了凯瑟琳和弗格逊，弗格逊又是印象很深。旅馆又宏大又空旷，但是饭菜很好，酒也很好，大家喝了酒以后愉快起来。凯瑟琳再也没有别的要求了。她很快乐。弗格逊也相当高兴。我也觉得挺不错。饭后弗格逊回她旅馆去了。她饭后要躺一会儿，她说。那天午后近黄昏时，有人来敲房门。
① 美人岛原只是湖中的一些大岩石，后来经过17 世纪一位巴罗美伯爵加以点缀修建，成为著名名胜地。
“谁呀？”
“葛雷非伯爵问你愿意不愿意陪他打弹子。”
我看看表；我临睡前脱下手表，表放在枕头底下。
“你非去不可吗，亲爱的？”凯瑟琳低声问。
“还是去的好。”表上时间是四点一刻。我大声说：“请你告诉葛雷非伯爵，我五点钟到弹子间来。”
四点三刻时，我吻别了凯瑟琳，走进浴间去穿衣服。我照着镜子结领带时，发觉自己穿着平民服装很怪。我得记着去再买几件衬衫和袜子。“你要去好久吗？”凯瑟琳问。她躺在床上很可爱。“请你把发刷递给我好吗？”
我看着她刷头发，她的头半斜着，头发尽落在一边。外面天已暗了，床头的灯光照在她的头发、脖子和肩膀上。我走过去亲她，握住了她那拿发刷的手，她的头倒在枕头上。我亲着她的脖子和肩膀。我是那么爱她，感到有点昏晕。
“我不想走了。”
“我不想让你走。”
“那么我就不去了。”
“不。去。只是去一会儿，过后就回来。”
“我们就在这儿吃晚饭。”
“快去快来。”
葛雷非伯爵已经在弹子间里。他正在练习打弹子，弹子台顶上的灯光照耀下来，他的身子显得很脆弱。灯光圈外不远的地方有一张打纸牌的桌子，上面摆着一只放冰的银桶，冰块上突出着两瓶香槟酒的瓶颈和瓶塞。我进去往台子走，葛雷非伯爵直起身子朝我迎上来。他伸出手来。“你在这里真是太叫人愉快了。你还赏光和我打弹子，实在太好了。”“谢谢你的邀请。”“你完全恢复了没有？人家告诉我，你在伊孙左河上受了伤。我希望你现在好了。”
“我很好。你好吗？”
“哦，我身体一向是好的。但是我越来越老了。我发觉了一些老年的征象。”
“我不相信。”
“我是老了。给你举个实例吧？我讲意大利语比较不费力。我约束自己，避免讲意大利语，但是我人一累，就觉得讲意大利语轻松得多。所以我知道我老了。”
“我们可以讲意大利语。我也有点累了。”
“哦，不过你累的话，该讲英语比较不费力吧。”
“美国语。”
“是的。美国语。请讲美国语。那是一种可爱的语言。”
“现在我很少见到美国人。”
“那你一定若有所失。见不到同胞不好过，尤其是女同胞。我有过这种体会。我们打弹子吧？要不，你觉得太累？”
“我并不是真的累。不过说说笑话罢了。你让我几分？”
“你近来常常打弹子吗？”
“一次也没有。”
“你的技术本来很不错。一百分让十分吧？”
“你过分夸奖我了。”
“十五分。”
“那很好，不过你还是会打败我的。”
“我们赌一点钱怎么样？你打球一向喜欢下注的。”
“我看还是这么办吧。”
“好。我让你十八分，我们算一分一法郎。”
他打得一手好弹子，虽则他让我十八分，到五十分时我只赢了他四分。葛雷非伯爵按按墙上的电铃，喊酒保来。
“请你开一瓶，”他说。随即转对我说：“我们来点小刺激吧。”酒冰冷，不带甜味，品质醇良。
“我们讲意大利语好吗？你不大在乎吧？现在这是我最大的偏爱了。”
我们继续打弹子，停手时就喝口香槟，用意大利语交谈，不过话也讲得很少，只专心打弹子。葛雷非伯爵打到一百分时，我还只九十四分。他笑笑，拍拍我的肩膀。
“现在我们来喝另一瓶酒，你对我谈谈战事好啦。”他等我先坐下。“谈旁的事吧，”我说。
“你不愿意谈它吗？好。最近你看了什么书？”
“没有什么，”我说。“我这人恐怕太愚蠢了。”
“哪里。不过你应当看看书。”
“战时有什么好书？”
“有个法国人巴比塞，写了本书叫做《火线》②。还有《勃列特林先生看穿了》①。”
“他可并没有看穿。”
“什么？”
“他没有真的看穿。这些书医院里都有。”
“这么说你近来是在看书的吧？”
“看一点，但没什么很好的。”
“依我看，《勃列特林先生》这书，对于英国中产阶级的灵魂，是个很好的分析研究。”
“我可不知道什么是灵魂。”
“可怜的孩子。我们大家都不知道什么是灵魂。你信教吗？”“只在夜里。”
葛雷非伯爵笑笑，用手指把酒杯转动一下。“我本以为年纪越大，一定
更热心信教，但是我并没有这样的变化，”他说。“这真太可惜了。”“你死后还想活下去吗？”我问，话出了口立即觉得自己太糊涂了，竟提起死字。但是他全不介意。
② 阿比西尼亚，现名埃塞俄比亚，在非洲东北部。1896 年意军进犯，结果失败。
① 奥赛罗是莎士比亚同名悲剧中的主人公，是皮肤黝黑的摩尔人，因为误听了埃古的话，杀害了妻子苔丝蒂蒙娜。奥赛罗的职业是军人。
“那要看你现在的生活怎么样。我这一生过得很愉快。我希望能永远活下去，”他笑笑说。“我也差不多算长寿的了。”
我们坐在深深的皮椅里，香槟放在冰桶里，我们的酒杯放在我们中间的小几上。“要是你活到我这样老的年龄，一定会发觉许多事情是奇怪的。”
“你一点也不见老。”
“衰老的是身体。有时我害怕，怕我的一个手指会像粉笔那样断掉。至于精神，倒没有老，也没变得更聪明。”
“你倒是聪明的。”
“不，这是个大谬论；说什么老人富有智慧。人老并不增加智慧。只是越来越小心罢了。”
“这也许就是智慧。”
“这是一种很不讨人喜欢的智慧。你最珍重的是什么？”“我爱的人。”
“我也是。这并不是智慧。你珍重生命吗？”
“珍重的。”
“我也是。因为我所有的只有这个。因此给自己做寿开宴会，”他大笑起来。“你也许比我聪明。你不做寿。”
我们两人都喝一口酒。
“你对战争究竟怎样看法？”我问。
“我认为，是愚蠢的。”
“哪一边会赢呢？”
“意大利。”
“为什么？”
“他们是个比较年轻的国家。”
“年轻的国家必然打胜仗？”
“在相当时期内是这样的。”
“过了那时期又怎么样呢？”
“他们变成老一点的国家了。”
“你还说你没有智慧。”
“好孩子，这不是智慧。这是犬儒主义。”
“我听起来倒是充满智慧。”
“那也并不特别如此。我还可以把反面的例子举出来。不过，这也算不坏就是啦。你的香槟喝完没有？”
“差不多了。”
“要不要再喝一点？过一会儿我就得换衣服去了。”“我们也许不要再喝了吧。”
“你真的不想再喝了？”
“真的。”他站了起来。
“我希望你运气非常好，非常快乐，身体非常非常健康。”“谢谢。我则希望你长生不老。”
“谢谢。我已经是如此了。还有，你以后倘若变得虔诚的话，我死后请替我祷告。这事我已经拜托了好几位朋友。我本以为自己会虔诚起来，可是到底不行。”他似乎苦笑了一下，不过到底笑还是没笑，却很难说。他太老了，满脸皱纹，一笑起来，牵动那么多的皱纹，全然分不出层次。“我可能变得很虔诚，”我说。“无论如何，我为你祷告就是了。”“我一向以为自己会变得虔诚的。我家里的人，死时都很虔诚。但是我到现在还不热心。”
“是时间太早吧。”
“也许太迟了。我大概已经超过了热心信教的年龄。”
“我只在夜里才有宗教情绪。”
“那时你也是处在恋爱中啊。别忘记恋爱也是一种宗教情绪。”“你真的这样相信吗？”
“自然啦。”他朝桌子踏前一步。“你肯来打弹子，真太好了。”“我
也很愉快。”
“我们一同上楼去吧。”
Catherine went along the lake to the little hotel to see Ferguson and I sat in the bar and read the papers. There were comfortable leather chairs in the bar and I sat in one of them and read until the barman came in. The army had not stood at the Tagliamento. They were falling back to the Piave. I remembered the Piave. The railroad crossed it near San Dona going up to the front. It was deep and slow there and quite narrow. Down below there were mosquito marshes and canals. There were some lovely villas. Once, before the war, going up to Cortina D'Ampezzo I had gone along it for several hours in the hills. Up there it looked like a trout stream, flowing swiftly with shallow stretches and pools under the shadow of the rocks. The road turned off from it at Cadore. I wondered how the army that was up there would come down. The barman came in.
"Count Greffi was asking for you," he said.
"Who?"
"Count Greffi. You remember the old man who was here when you were here before."
"Is he here?"
"Yes, he's here with his niece. I told him you were here. He wants you to play billiards."
"Where is he?"
"He's taking a walk."
"How is he?"
"He's younger than ever. He drank three champagne cocktails last night before dinner."
"How's his billiard game?"
"Good. He beat me. When I told him you were here he was very pleased. There's nobody here for him to play with."
Count Greffi was ninety-four years old. He had been a contemporary of Metternich and was an old man with white hair and mustache and beautiful manners. He had been in the diplomatic service of both Austria and Italy and his birthday parties were the great social event of Milan. He was living to be one hundred years old and played a smoothly fluent game of billiards that contrasted with his own ninety-four-year-old brittleness. I had met him when I had been at Stresa once before out of season and while we played billiards we drank champagne. I thought it was a splendid custom and he gave me fifteen points in a hundred and beat me.
"Why didn't you tell me he was here?"
"I forgot it."
"Who else is here?"
"No one you know. There are only six people altogether."
"What are you doing now?"
"Nothing."
"Come on out fishing."
"I could come for an hour."
"Come on. Bring the trolling line."
The barman put on a coat and we went out. We went down and got a boat and I rowed while the barman sat in the stern and let out the line with a spinner and a heavy sinker on the end to troll for lake trout. We rowed along the shore, the barman holding the line in his hand and giving it occasional jerks forward. Stresa looked very deserted from the lake. There were the long rows of bare trees, the big hotels and the closed villas. I rowed across to Isola Bella and went close to the walls, where the water deepened sharply, and you saw the rock wall slanting down in the clear water, and then up and along to the fisherman's island. The sun was under a cloud and the water was dark and smooth and very cold. We did not have a strike though we saw some circles on the water from rising fish.
I rowed up opposite the fisherman's island where there were boats drawn up and men were mending nets.
"Should we get a drink?"
"All right."
I brought the boat up to the stone pier and the barman pulled in the line, coiling it on the bottom of the boat and hooking the spinner on the edge of the gunwale. I stepped out and tied the boat. We went into a little caf? sat at a bare wooden table and ordered vermouth.
"Are you tired from rowing?"
"I'll row back," he said.
"I like to row."
"Maybe if you hold the line it will change the luck."
"All right."
"Tell me how goes the war."
"Rotten."
"I don't have to go. I'm too old, like Count Greffi."
"Maybe you'll have to go yet."
"Next year they'll call my class. But I won't go."
"What will you do?"
"Get out of the country. I wouldn't go to war. I was at the war once in Abyssinia. Nix. Why do you go?"
"I don't know. I was a fool."
"Have another vermouth?"
"All right."
The barman rowed back. We trolled up the lake beyond Stresa and then down not far from shore. I held the taut line and felt the faint pulsing of the spinner revolving while I looked at the dark November water of the lake and the deserted shore. The barman rowed with long strokes and on the forward thrust of the boat the line throbbed. Once I had a strike: the line hardened suddenly and jerked back. I pulled and felt the live weight of the trout and then the line throbbed again. I had missed him.
"Did he feel big?"
"Pretty big."
"Once when I was out trolling alone I had the line in my teeth and one struck and nearly took my mouth out."
"The best way is to have it over your leg," I said. "Then you feel it and don't lose your teeth."
I put my hand in the water. It was very cold. We were almost opposite the hotel now.
"I have to go in," the barman said, "to be there for eleven o'clock. L'heure du cocktail."
"All right."
I pulled in the line and wrapped it on a stick notched at each end. The barman put the boat in a little slip in the stone wall and locked it with a chain and padlock.
"Any time you want it," he said, "I'll give you the key."
"Thanks."
We went up to the hotel and into the bar. I did not want another drink so early in the morning so I went up to our room. The maid had just finished doing the room and Catherine was not back yet. I lay down on the bed and tried to keep from thinking.
When Catherine came back it was all right again. Ferguson was downstairs, she said. She was coming to lunch.
"I knew you wouldn't mind," Catherine said.
"No," I said.
"What's the matter, darling?"
"I don't know."
"I know. You haven't anything to do. All you have is me and I go away."
"That's true."
"I'm sorry, darling. I know it must be a dreadful feeling to have nothing at all suddenly."
"My life used to be full of everything," I said. "Now if you aren't with me I haven't a thing in the world."
"But I'll be with you. I was only gone for two hours. Isn't there anything you can do?"
"I went fishing with the barman."
"Wasn't it fun?"
"Yes."
"Don't think about me when I'm not here."
"That's the way I worked it at the front. But there was something to do then."
"Othello with his occupation gone," she teased.
"Othello was a nigger," I said. "Besides, I'm not jealous. I'm just so in love with you that there isn't anything else."
"Will you be a good boy and be nice to Ferguson?"
"I'm always nice to Ferguson unless she curses me."
"Be nice to her. Think how much we have and she hasn't anything."
"I don't think she wants what we have."
"You don't know much, darling, for such a wise boy."
"I'll be nice to her."
"I know you will. You're so sweet."
"She won't stay afterward, will she?"
"No. I'll get rid of her."
"And then we'll come up here."
"Of course. What do you think I want to do?"
We went downstairs to have lunch with Ferguson. She was very impressed by the hotel and the splendor of the dining-room. We had a good lunch with a couple of bottles of white capri. Count Greffi came into the dining-room and bowed to us. His niece, who looked a little like my grandmother, was with him. I told Catherine and Ferguson about him and Ferguson was very impressed. The hotel was very big and grand and empty but the food was good, the wine was very pleasant and finally the wine made us all feel very well. Catherine had no need to feel any better. She was very happy. Ferguson became quite cheerful. I felt very well myself. After lunch Ferguson went back to her hotel. She was going to lie down for a while after lunch she said.
Along late in the afternoon some one knocked on our door.
"Who is it?"
"The Count Greffi wishes to know if you will play billiards with him."
I looked at my watch; I had taken it off and it was under the pillow.
"Do you have to go, darling?" Catherine whispered.
"I think I'd better." The watch was a quarter-past four o'clock. Out loud I said, "Tell the Count Greffi I will be in the billiard-room at five o'clock."
At a quarter to five I kissed Catherine good-by and went into the bathroom to dress. Knotting my tie and looking in the glass I looked strange to myself in the civilian clothes. I must remember to buy some more shirts and socks.
"Will you be away a long time?" Catherine asked. She looked lovely in the bed. "Would you hand me the brush?"
I watched her brushing her hair, holding her head so the weight of her hair all came on one side. It was dark outside and the light over the head of the bed shone on her hair and on her neck and shoulders. I went over and kissed her and held her hand with the brush and her head sunk back on the pillow. I kissed her neck and shoulders. I felt faint with loving her so much.
"I don't want to go away."
"I don't want you to go away."
"I won't go then."
"Yes. Go. It's only for a little while and then you'll come back." "We'll have dinner up here."
"Hurry and come back."
I found the Count Greffi in the billiard-room. He was practising strokes, looking very fragile under the light that came down above the billiard table. On a card table a little way beyond the light was a silver icing-bucket with the necks and corks of two champagne bottles showing above the ice. The Count Greffi straightened up when I came toward the table and walked toward me. He put out his hand, "It is such a great pleasure that you are here. You were very kind to come to play with me."
"It was very nice of you to ask me."
"Are you quite well? They told me you were wounded on the Isonzo. I hope you are well again."
"I'm very well. Have you been well?"
"Oh, I am always well. But I am getting old. I detect signs of age now."
"I can't believe it."
"Yes. Do you want to know one? It is easier for me to talk Italian. I discipline myself but I find when I am tired that it is so much easier to talk Italian. So I know I must be getting old."
"We could talk Italian. I am a little tired, too."
"Oh, but when you are tired it will be easier for you to talk English."
"American."
"Yes. American. You will please talk American. It is a delightful language."
"I hardly ever see Americans."
"You must miss them. One misses one's countrymen and especially one's countrywomen. I know that experience. Should we play or are you too tired?"
"I'm not really tired. I said that for a joke. What handicap will you give me?"
"Have you been playing very much?"
"None at all."
"You play very well. Ten points in a hundred?"
"You flatter me."
"Fifteen?"
"That would be fine but you will beat me."
"Should we play for a stake? You always wished to play for a stake."
"I think we'd better."
"All right. I will give you eighteen points and we will play for a franc a point."
He played a lovely game of billiards and with the handicap I was only four ahead at fifty. Count Greffi pushed a button on the wall to ring for the barman.
"Open one bottle please," he said. Then to me, "We will take a little stimulant." The wine was icy cold and very dry and good.
"Should we talk Italian? Would you mind very much? It is my weakness now."
We went on playing, sipping the wine between shots, speaking in Italian, but talking little, concentrated on the game. Count Greffi made his one hundredth point and with the handicap I was only at ninety-four. He smiled and patted me on the shoulder.
"Now we will drink the other bottle and you will tell me about the war." He waited for me to sit down.
"About anything else," I said.
"You don't want to talk about it? Good. What have you been reading?"
"Nothing," I said. "I'm afraid I am very dull."
"No. But you should read."
"What is there written in war-time?"
"There is 'Le Feu' by a Frenchman, Barbusse. There is 'Mr. Britling Sees Through It."
"No, he doesn't."
"What?"
"He doesn't see through it. Those books were at the hospital."
"Then you have been reading?"
"Yes, but nothing any good."
"I thought 'Mr. Britling' a very good study of the English middle-class soul."
"I don't know about the soul."
"Poor boy. We none of us know about the soul. Are you Croyant?"
"At night."
Count Greffi smiled and turned the glass with his fingers. "I had expected to become more devout as I grow older but somehow I haven't," he said. "It is a great pity."
"Would you like to live after death?" I asked and instantly felt a fool to mention death. But he did not mind the word.
"It would depend on the life. This life is very pleasant. I would like to live forever," he smiled. "I very nearly have."
We were sitting in the deep leather chairs, the champagne in the ice-bucket and our glasses on the table between us.
"If you ever live to be as old as I am you will find many things strange."
"You never seem old."
"It is the body that is old. Sometimes I am afraid I will break off a finger as one breaks a stick of chalk. And the spirit is no older and not much wiser."
"You are wise."
"No, that is the great fallacy; the wisdom of old men. They do not grow wise. They grow careful."
"Perhaps that is wisdom."
"It is a very unattractive wisdom. What do you value most?"
"Some one I love."
"With me it is the same. That is not wisdom. Do you value life?"
"Yes."
"So do I. Because it is all I have. And to give birthday parties," he laughed. "You are probably wiser than I am. You do not give birthday parties."
We both drank the wine.
"What do you think of the war really?" I asked.
"I think it is stupid."
"Who will win it?"
"Italy."
"Why?"
"They are a younger nation."
"Do younger nations always win wars?"
"They are apt to for a time."
"Then what happens?"
"They become older nations."
"You said you were not wise."
"Dear boy, that is not wisdom. That is cynicism."
"It sounds very wise to me."
"It's not particularly. I could quote you the examples on the other side. But it is not bad. Have we finished the champagne?"
"Almost."
"Should we drink some more? Then I must dress."
"Perhaps we'd better not now."
"You are sure you don't want more?"
"Yes." He stood up.
"I hope you will be very fortunate and very happy and very, very healthy."
"Thank you. And I hope you will live forever."
"Thank you. I have. And if you ever become devout pray for me if I am dead. I am asking several of my friends to do that. I had expected to become devout myself but it has not come." I thought he smiled sadly but I could not tell. He was so old and his face was very wrinkled, so that a smile used so many lines that all gradations were lost.
"I might become very devout," I said. "Anyway, I will pray for you."
"I had always expected to become devout. All my family died very devout. But somehow it does not come."
"It's too early."
"Maybe it is too late. Perhaps I have outlived my religious feeling."
"My own comes only at night."
"Then too you are in love. Do not forget that is a religious feeling."
"You believe so?"
"Of course." He took a step toward the table. "You were very kind to play."
"It was a great pleasure."
"We will walk up stairs together."
