It was bedtime, and the world outside was resting in all silence in the arms of the trees. The sidewalks and streets had begun their nightly disappearance into the shining wet.

The old companions were having a party. Like the wind and the light outside, their love for each other and for all of humanity flowed from place to place in the room.

As they tried from time to time to capture the essence of this love with a fine turn of phrase, a smooth bon mot, they were often amused at how easily their feelings evaded all words. Having passed beyond all kisses and embraces, they practiced the most subtle and fluid of gestures, adding and subtracting space from the room with their movements.

After all of their earlier groping, their youthful impatience, they had finally grown old enough to be calm. They had come at last to accept the finality of a world which had not been invented by themselves, that they spoke not of tigers and dragons at all, but of closed doors and walls of plain plaster. Life had become as ordinary as finding the newspaper on the steps in the morning.

In such contentment, they were in no mood to allow themselves to be distracted by surprising apparitions or events. They refused to allow the strange and unconscionable to trifle with them or disturb their gracious calm, so hard won through time.

Thus, they refused to display any surprise when a gymnastic man suddenly burst unannounced into their rooms. They drew carefully on their cigars and continued to behave as though they had made him up impromptu for each other's amusement and for the pleasure of their guests.

The guests waited, curious, complacent, expecting as usual from their hosts, some novel nuance of the conventional.

They were not to be disappointed. Turning to the uninvited arrival, the elder host remarked that he was naked to the waist, then asked if he had enjoyed his stay at the seashore and was he thinking of returning there soon?

Encouraged by this show of courtesy, the gymnast bowed to his host in silence before turning to dive suddenly into the vast green and blue of the household aquarium.

No one could say where he had got the idea. But all agreed with their suddenly indrawn breath and the silence that followed that the gymnast's idea was a happy one.

The courtesy of the old companions was so profound, they could never think of making demands on their new guest. They turned once more to their card games, their drinks and their cigarettes. A child who crowed with innocent delight and surprise was admonished quietly to maintain his decorum.

The gymnast returned dripping from his quest in the aquarium, rags of seaweed trailing from his ears and hair. With a gesture which spoke of long practice, he plucked from behind the ears of each of his hosts, one of a pair of exquisite pearls, which he placed in their hands with a motion at once surreptitious and dramatic.

The hosts were dressed for the occasion and carried flowers smelling of Africa: more than a hint of dry sand and blistering sun. Of experience, at least, the two had plenty. They knew the pearls at sight.

Without exchanging a word, they walked to the garden and the well. Mouthing epithets part curse and part prayer, they flung the pearls into the well, like czarist officers smashing liqueur glasses after a toast. The pearls flashed pale and white for a moment before disappearing forever.

Patting each other on the shoulders, the two companions wiped their tears from their eyes and then returned to their guests. With warm glances, they expressed their gratitude toward the new arrival. All the others nodded their approval. It was the perfect ending to their perfectly ordinary evening.