PROUST   Charming, charming. Forgive me. I am with friends, and I was telling them about your exquisite artistry and they would not rest until I’d sallied forth into the middle of the night to collect my band of warriors. Dare I presume on your good nature just once more?

POULET   Alas, monsieur, I wish I could oblige you, but it is impossible. The Quartet for the moment is disbanded. Monsieur Ruyssen has been ill with his stomach. Now he is in hospital with appendicitis.

PROUST   Do not say so. Still, accomplished though Monsieur Ruyssen is, there must be other players.

POULET   Not at this hour of the night, monsieur. Besides, we are also short of a viola.

PROUST   Ah yes, Monsieur Massis. What has happened to him? Not recalled to the front, surely?

POULET   Happily no, monsieur. The authorities have extended his leave indefinitely and they have gone to the country to convalesce.

PROUST   They?

POULET   His fiancée, monsieur. I am sorry, monsieur. You have been so generous.

PROUST   No matter. It was just a thought. I have disturbed you.

POULET   No.

PROUST   Forgive me, Monsieur Poulet, and remember me to all your colleagues.

POULET   I will, monsieur, I will.

PROUST   Charming, charming.

INT. RUE DE HERRAN. LIFT. NIGHT.

Proust impassive.

INT. LARUE’S RESTAURANT. NIGHT.

The restaurant is now virtually empty except for Morand and Princess Soutzo, who are preparing to leave.

Proust does not bother to take his coat off.

MORAND   Ah. No luck?
Proust shakes his head but does not explain.

PRINCESS   No matter. It’s getting late.
The Head Waiter brings the bill.
Proust scrutinises it carefully.

PROUST   Remember, Paul, one does not forfeit the manager’s esteem by examining one’s bill provided he thinks one is doing it not so much from poverty as from avarice.
He takes some notes from his pocket and pays.
They make their way to the door.
The commissionaire is standing by the door.

PROUST   Would you be so kind as to lend me fifty francs?

COMMISSIONAIRE   Certainly, monsieur.
The commissionaire offers Proust a fifty-franc note.

PROUST   No, no. Keep it. It was for you, anyway.

INT. PROUST’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.

Proust is lying with his eyes closed, his hands outside the sheets, dead-looking.

Céleste comes in.

PROUST   No one has called, Céleste?

CÉLESTE   No, monsieur.

PROUST   And there were no other letters?

CÉLESTE   No, monsieur. Was monsieur expecting something?

PROUST   No. (Pause.) Any word from Odilon?

CÉLESTE   A letter this morning, monsieur.

PROUST   Is he well?

CÉLESTE   He’s safe, monsieur. That is all one can hope for.

PROUST   Do you miss him, Céleste?

CÉLESTE   A little, monsieur.

PROUST   But he misses you?

CÉLESTE   Oh yes, monsieur.

PROUST   That is how it should be. Do you read novels. Céleste?

CÉLESTE   Occasionally, monsieur.

PROUST   Why?

CÉLESTE   They take me out of myself, monsieur.

PROUST   They should take you into yourself.
Céleste looks blank.