Yes, ten. I’ll pay thirty francs for them.”

We finally got lined up like passengers in a stage-coach. I was forgiven for not having any poetry to offer, because they were all contributing poetry.

“A frontispiece and tail-pieces, of course.”

“Oh, yes, many tail-pieces to keep the poems separate, because they will follow upon each other’s heels like customers at a box-office who are afraid they won’t get in. And suppose they should become mixed up! . . .”

Vallette will write an article on La Pléiade. This approximately will be its gist: there are three reasons for founding a literary review. 1. To make money. We do not wish to make money—

We looked at each other. Who, here, would say that he wished to make money? No one. A happy situation.

“Are we by chance décadents?”

“No! Not with Baju. He is a schoolteacher, you know.”

“Too bad! The god Verlaine will not seat us on his right hand.”

“Do we plan on clarity?”

“Yes, clarity.” “Entire clarity.” “Oh! entire clarity. Let’s not exaggerate. Let’s say chiaroscuro.”

“Bring only the top of your baskets,” Vallette said.

Samain, a young man of distinguished aspect, wearing stylish gloves, who so far had said nothing, being entirely taken up with sketching a fat woman’s bottom on the table, remarked:

“And we will give what’s underneath to Le Figaro.”

“Don’t knock Le Figaro. Aurier belongs to it.”

“So does Randon.” . . .

Unhappily, the question of monetary contributions came up. Vallette announced that he would put them down as they were called, but in pencil, so they could be erased at the first sign of regret. Renard, 30 francs; Dumur, 20; Vallette, 10; Raynaud, 10; Court, 5. It went on diminishing like a lizard’s tail. I wondered if it would end by someone contributing a button. Justly proud, by virtue of my 30 francs, I promptly conceived a high opinion of myself and of the Universe, and disdainfully neglected to say anything that might crush, under a pile of guarantees, the suspicions as to my solvency that must certainly have been springing up in the hearts of these men.

It was decided that we would meet the first and the last Friday of each month in some café on the decline, “to give it a boost”. It was decided that we would then pay two contributions at a time, because a review should be able to say “I exist”, and that is not as easy as Descartes thought.

The glasses were empty. Three lumps of sugar remained in a saucer. Aurier picked them up between his thumb and forefinger and offered them from afar. Heads moved from side to side. He did not insist, but placed them in the pocket of his Prince Albert. “It’s for my rabbits,” he said, parodying a joke by Taupin. For tomorrow’s breakfast, most likely.

From eleven o’clock until midnight, in silence, all braced themselves for the final moment.