At about five that afternoon, the little sad-faced concierge at the Hôtel du Sénat nearly dropped her hands in shock when a wagon piled high with flowering plants stopped outside the hotel.
She immediately called for Joseph, the temperamental waiter.
Joseph stared at the flowers and mentally converted their value into bottles of liquor. Then he shook his head gloomily.
“I have no idea where they are going.”
The concierge frowned.
“Come now. Let us find the woman!”
Joseph looked at her.
“You?”
She stood there thoughtfully for a moment, then sighed.
Joseph rubbed his nose, which was almost as brightly colored as the flowers surrounding them.
A few minutes later, the gardener appeared with his hat in his hand.
Not long afterward, Selby stood in the middle of his room with his coat off and his sleeves rolled up.
The room had barely had enough floor space for a person to walk around before. Now even that little space was occupied by a huge cactus.
The bed was buried under crates of pansies, lilies, and heliotrope.
Hyacinths and tulips covered the sofa.
The washstand held what looked like a small tree that was supposedly going to produce flowers someday.
Clifford arrived a little later.
He immediately tripped over a box of sweet peas.
“Damn it!”
He caught himself, muttered an apology, and then looked around.
The full madness of the floral display finally sank in.
He sat down in astonishment—right on a geranium.
The geranium was destroyed.
“Sorry,” Clifford said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Selby replied.
But he was staring angrily at the cactus.
“Are you planning to give a ball?” Clifford asked.
“No—no. I just like flowers.”
Selby said it without much conviction.
“I should think so.”
Clifford looked around again.
“That’s quite a cactus.”
Selby examined it like an expert.
“It is.”
He reached out and touched it.
A thorn immediately pierced his thumb.
Clifford poked one of the pansies with his walking stick.
Then Joseph came in carrying the bill.
He announced the total loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Part of the reason was to impress Clifford.
The other part was to pressure Selby into giving him a tip, which he might possibly share with the gardener.
Clifford pretended not to hear.
Selby paid the bill and the tip without saying a word.
Then he tried to lean back casually.
Unfortunately, the cactus caught his trousers and tore them.
Clifford made an ordinary remark, lit a cigarette, and turned toward the window.
He was clearly giving Selby a chance to explain himself.
Selby tried.
“Yes. Spring is finally here.”
Then he stopped.
He stared at the back of Clifford’s head.
Those little ears seemed to be practically vibrating with amusement.
Selby desperately tried to regain control of the situation.
He jumped up to get a pack of Russian cigarettes, hoping they might give him something to talk about.
The cactus stopped him.
Again.
He stumbled into it and got another painful reminder of its existence.
That was enough.
“Damn the cactus!”
The words burst out of Selby before he could stop them.
He had tried to keep his temper under control, but the long, sharp thorns had finally defeated him.
It was too late.
Clifford turned around.
“Hold on, Selby. Why the devil did you buy all these flowers?”
“I like flowers.”
“What are you going to do with them? You can’t even sleep in this room.”
“I could, if you’d help me move the pansies off the bed.”
“Where are you going to put everything?”
“Couldn’t I give them to the concierge?”
The moment he said it, Selby regretted it.
What would Clifford think?
He had heard the price of the flowers.
Would he think Selby had spent all that money because he was secretly trying to impress the concierge?
And what would everyone in the Latin Quarter say if they heard about it?
Selby could already imagine the jokes.
He hated being laughed at.
And he knew Clifford was perfectly capable of making him the center of one.
Then someone knocked on the door.
Selby looked at Clifford with an almost desperate expression.
There was something pleading in his eyes.
Clifford understood.
He stood up, squeezed his way through the jungle of flowers, and put his eye to the crack in the door.
“Who the devil is it?”
That sort of greeting was perfectly normal in the Latin Quarter.
He looked back at Selby.
“It’s Elliott. Rowden’s with him. And they’ve brought their bulldogs.”
Clifford spoke through the crack in the door.
“Sit down on the stairs. Selby and I will be out in a minute.”
Unfortunately, discretion was not one of the Latin Quarter’s strongest qualities.
Elliott and Rowden sat down on the stairs.
Then they began whistling.
A moment later, Rowden called through the door.
“I smell flowers! They’re having a feast in there!”
“You ought to know Selby better than that,” Clifford growled from inside.
Selby was hurriedly changing out of his torn trousers.
“We know Selby,” Elliott called back.
“Yes,” Rowden added.
“He’s giving a reception with flowers and inviting Clifford while we have to sit out here on the stairs.”
“Exactly,” Elliott said.
“While the youth and beauty of the Latin Quarter enjoy themselves inside.”
Then Rowden suddenly sounded worried.
“Wait. Is Odette in there?”
Elliott immediately joined in.
“Hold on! Is Colette there?”
Then he shouted dramatically toward the door.
“Colette! Are you in there while I’m sitting out here kicking my heels on these filthy tiles?”
“Clifford is capable of anything,” Rowden said.
“His character has been completely corrupted since Rue Barrée sat on him.”
Elliott suddenly raised his voice again.
“By the way, you fellows! We saw flowers being carried into Rue Barrée’s house around noon.”
“Flowers and roses,” Rowden added.
“Probably for her,” Elliott said, stroking his bulldog.
Clifford turned sharply toward Selby.
Selby’s face revealed nothing.
He quietly hummed a tune.
He selected a pair of gloves.
Then he chose a dozen cigarettes and put them into his cigarette case.
Finally, he walked over to the cactus.
Very deliberately, he picked one of its flowers.
He slipped the flower through his buttonhole.
Then he picked up his hat and walking stick.
He turned to Clifford and smiled.
Clifford stared at him.
For the first time, he looked seriously disturbed.