Page 386 - tender-is-the-night

V

Nicole went to the window and bent over the sill to take
a look at the rising altercation on the terrace; the April sun
shone pink on the saintly face of Augustine, the cook, and
blue on the butcher’s knife she waved in her drunken hand.
She had been with them since their return to Villa Diana in
February.
Because of an obstruction of an awning she could see
only Dick’s head and his hand holding one of his heavy
canes with a bronze knob on it. The knife and the cane,
menacing each other, were like tripos and short sword in a
gladiatorial combat. Dick’s words reached her first:
‘—care how much kitchen wine you drink but when I
find you digging into a bottle of Chablis Moutonne—‘
‘You talk about drinking!’ Augustine cried, flourishing
her sabre. ‘You drink—all the time!’
Nicole called over the awning: ‘What’s the matter, Dick?’
and he answered in English:
‘The old girl has been polishing off the vintage wines. I’m
firing her—at least I’m trying to.’
‘Heavens! Well, don’t let her reach you with that knife.’
Augustine shook her knife up at Nicole. Her old mouth
was made of two small intersecting cherries.
‘I would like to say, Madame, if you knew that your
husband drinks over at his Bastide comparatively as a day-

386 Tender is the Night