Somerset maughan

Monsieur le Maire
. 
The room was full when Arthur Burdon entered, but Margaret had 
kept him an empty seat between herself and Miss Boyd. Everyone 
was speaking at once, in French, at the top of his voice, and a furious 
argument was proceeding on the merit of the later Impressionists. 
Arthur sat down, and was hurriedly introduced to a lanky youth, 
who sat on the other side of Margaret. He was very tall, very thin, 
very fair. He wore a very high collar and very long hair, and held 
himself like an exhausted lily. 
'He always reminds me of an Aubrey Beardsley that's been 
dreadfully smudged,' said Susie in an undertone. 'He's a nice, kind 
creature, but his name is Jagson. He has virtue and industry. I 
haven't seen any of his work, but he has absolutely 
no
talent.' 
'How do you know, if you've not seen his pictures?' asked Arthur. 

---

'Oh, it's one of our conventions here that nobody has talent,' 
laughed Susie. 'We suffer one another personally, but we have no 
illusions about the value of our neighbour's work.' 
'Tell me who everyone is.' 
'Well, look at that little bald man in the corner. That is Warren.' 
Arthur looked at the man she pointed out. He was a small person, 
with a pate as shining as a billiard-ball, and a pointed beard. He had 
protruding, brilliant eyes. 
'Hasn't he had too much to drink?' asked Arthur frigidly. 
'Much,' answered Susie promptly, 'but he's always in that condition, 
and the further he gets from sobriety the more charming he is. He's 
the only man in this room of whom you'll never hear a word of evil. 
The strange thing is that he's very nearly a great painter. He has the 
most fascinating sense of colour in the world, and the more 
intoxicated he is, the more delicate and beautiful is his painting. 
Sometimes, after more than the usual number of 
apéritifs
, he will sit 
down in a café to do a sketch, with his hand so shaky that he can 
hardly hold a brush; he has to wait for a favourable moment, and 
then he makes a jab at the panel. And the immoral thing is that each 
of these little jabs is lovely. He's the most delightful interpreter of 
Paris I know, and when you've seen his sketches—he's done 
hundreds, of unimaginable grace and feeling and distinction—you 
can never see Paris in the same way again.' 
The little maid who looked busily after the varied wants of the 
customers stood in front of them to receive Arthur's order. She was 
a hard-visaged creature of mature age, but she looked neat in her 
black dress and white cap; and she had a motherly way of attending 
to these people, with a capacious smile of her large mouth which 
was full of charm. 
'I don't mind what I eat,' said Arthur. 'Let Margaret order my dinner 
for me.' 
'It would have been just as good if I had ordered it,' laughed Susie. 

---

They began a lively discussion with Marie as to the merits of the 
various dishes, and it was only interrupted by Warren's hilarious 
expostulations. 
'Marie, I precipitate myself at your feet, and beg you to bring me a 
poule au riz
.' 
'Oh, but give me one moment, 
monsieur
,' said the maid. 
'Do not pay any attention to that gentleman. His morals are 
detestable, and he only seeks to lead you from the narrow path of 
virtue.' 
Arthur protested that on the contrary the passion of hunger 
occupied at that moment his heart to the exclusion of all others. 
'Marie, you no longer love me,' cried Warren. 'There was a time 
when you did not look so coldly upon me when I ordered a bottle of 
white wine.' 
The rest of the party took up his complaint, and all besought her not 
to show too hard a heart to the bald and rubicund painter. 
'