[...] Despite all his resolve, he was still back where he started from; he didn't know enough, he didn't know anything. 'It would certainly be more logical to learn first, and to talk afterwards,' he said to himself.. But that's not the way things happen. First, you've got to speak, because the matter is urgent; afterwards, events prove you right or wrong. 'And that's precisely what's known as bluffing,' he said to himself unhappily. 'Yes, even I bluff my readers.' He had promised himself to speak the truth, to tell his readers things that would enlighten them, that would help them think. And now he was bluffing them. What to do? He couldn't shut down the newspaper, fire everyone, lock himself up in a room for a year with his books. The paper had to live, and to keep it alive Henri was forced to give himself to it completely, day after day. He stopped in front of the Scribe. He was glad he was dining with Lambert, but it disturbed him a little to have to speak to him about his short stories. He hoped Lambert didn't take them too seriously. He pushed through the revolving door; once inside, it seemed to him as if he had suddenly been transported to another continent. It was warm here, the men and the women wore American uniforms, the air smelled of mild tobacco, luxurious trinkets were on display in glass show cases. Lambert, smiling and dressed in a lieutenant's uniform, came to meet him. In the dining-room, reserved for the use of war correspondents, butter and very white bread were on every table.