Other People's Money [89]
him, took his key, and inquired,
"Is - Mlle. Lucienne at home?"
"Can't tell. She has been going and coming all the morning, and I don't know whether she finally staid in or out. One thing is sure, she waited for you last night until after twelve; and she didn't like it much, I can tell you."
Maxence started up the steep stairs; and, as he reached the upper stories, a woman's voice, fresh and beautifully toned, reached his ears more and more distinctly.
She was singing a popular tune, - one of those songs which are monthly put in circulation by the singing cafes
"To hope! 0 charming word, Which, during all life, Husband and children and wife Repeat in common accord! When the moment of success From us ever further slips, 'Tis Hope from its rosy lips Whispers, To-morrow you will bless. 'Tis very nice to run, But to have is better fun."
"She is in," murmured Maxence, breathing more freely.
Reaching the fourth story, he stopped before the door which faced the stairs, and knocked lightly.
At once, the voice, which had just commenced another verse stopped short, and inquired, "Who's there?"
"I, Maxence!"
"At this hour!" replied the voice with an ironical laugh. "That's lucky. You have probably forgotten that we were to go to the theatre last night, and start for St. Germain at seven o'clock this morning."
"Don't you know then?" Maxence began, as soon as he could put in a word.
"I know that you did not come home last night."
"Quite true. But when I have told you -"
"What? the lie you have imagined? Save yourself the trouble."
"Lucienne, I beg of you, open the door."
"Impossible, I am dressing. Go to your own room: as soon as I am dressed, I'll join you."
And, to cut short all these explanations, she took up her song again:
"Hope, I've waited but too long For thy manna divine! I've drunk enough of thy wine, And I know thy siren song: Waiting for a lucky turn, I have wasted my best days: Take up thy magic-lantern And elsewhere display its rays. Tis very nice to run, But to have is better fun!"
XXVI
It was on the opposite side of the landing that what Mme. Fortin pompously called" Maxence's apartment" was situated.
It consisted of a sort of antechamber, almost as large as a handkerchief (decorated by the Fortins with the name of dining-room), a bedroom, and a closet called a dressing-room in the lease. Nothing could be more gloomy than this lodging, in which the ragged paper and soiled paint retained the traces of all the wanderers who had occupied it since the opening of the Hotel des Folies. The dislocated ceiling was scaling off in large pieces; the floor seemed affected with the dry-rot; and the doors and windows were so much warped and sprung, that it required an effort to close them. The furniture was on a par with the rest.
"How everything does wear out!" sighed Mme. Fortin. "It isn't ten years since I bought that furniture."
In point of fact it was over fifteen, and even then she had bought it secondhanded, and almost unfit for use. The curtains retained but a vague shade of their original color. The veneer was almost entirely off the bedstead. Not a single lock was in order, whether in the bureau or the secretary. The rug had become a nameless rag; and the broken springs of the sofa, cutting through the threadbare stuff, stood up threateningly like knife-blades.
The most sumptuous object was an enormous China stove, which occupied almost one-half of the hall-dining-room. It could not be used to make a fire; for it had no pipe. Nevertheless, Mme. Fortin refused obstinately to take it out, under the pretext that it gave such a comfortable appearance to the apartment. All this elegance cost Maxence forty-five francs a month, and five francs for the service; the whole payable in advance from the 1st to the 3d of the month. If, on the
"Is - Mlle. Lucienne at home?"
"Can't tell. She has been going and coming all the morning, and I don't know whether she finally staid in or out. One thing is sure, she waited for you last night until after twelve; and she didn't like it much, I can tell you."
Maxence started up the steep stairs; and, as he reached the upper stories, a woman's voice, fresh and beautifully toned, reached his ears more and more distinctly.
She was singing a popular tune, - one of those songs which are monthly put in circulation by the singing cafes
"To hope! 0 charming word, Which, during all life, Husband and children and wife Repeat in common accord! When the moment of success From us ever further slips, 'Tis Hope from its rosy lips Whispers, To-morrow you will bless. 'Tis very nice to run, But to have is better fun."
"She is in," murmured Maxence, breathing more freely.
Reaching the fourth story, he stopped before the door which faced the stairs, and knocked lightly.
At once, the voice, which had just commenced another verse stopped short, and inquired, "Who's there?"
"I, Maxence!"
"At this hour!" replied the voice with an ironical laugh. "That's lucky. You have probably forgotten that we were to go to the theatre last night, and start for St. Germain at seven o'clock this morning."
"Don't you know then?" Maxence began, as soon as he could put in a word.
"I know that you did not come home last night."
"Quite true. But when I have told you -"
"What? the lie you have imagined? Save yourself the trouble."
"Lucienne, I beg of you, open the door."
"Impossible, I am dressing. Go to your own room: as soon as I am dressed, I'll join you."
And, to cut short all these explanations, she took up her song again:
"Hope, I've waited but too long For thy manna divine! I've drunk enough of thy wine, And I know thy siren song: Waiting for a lucky turn, I have wasted my best days: Take up thy magic-lantern And elsewhere display its rays. Tis very nice to run, But to have is better fun!"
XXVI
It was on the opposite side of the landing that what Mme. Fortin pompously called" Maxence's apartment" was situated.
It consisted of a sort of antechamber, almost as large as a handkerchief (decorated by the Fortins with the name of dining-room), a bedroom, and a closet called a dressing-room in the lease. Nothing could be more gloomy than this lodging, in which the ragged paper and soiled paint retained the traces of all the wanderers who had occupied it since the opening of the Hotel des Folies. The dislocated ceiling was scaling off in large pieces; the floor seemed affected with the dry-rot; and the doors and windows were so much warped and sprung, that it required an effort to close them. The furniture was on a par with the rest.
"How everything does wear out!" sighed Mme. Fortin. "It isn't ten years since I bought that furniture."
In point of fact it was over fifteen, and even then she had bought it secondhanded, and almost unfit for use. The curtains retained but a vague shade of their original color. The veneer was almost entirely off the bedstead. Not a single lock was in order, whether in the bureau or the secretary. The rug had become a nameless rag; and the broken springs of the sofa, cutting through the threadbare stuff, stood up threateningly like knife-blades.
The most sumptuous object was an enormous China stove, which occupied almost one-half of the hall-dining-room. It could not be used to make a fire; for it had no pipe. Nevertheless, Mme. Fortin refused obstinately to take it out, under the pretext that it gave such a comfortable appearance to the apartment. All this elegance cost Maxence forty-five francs a month, and five francs for the service; the whole payable in advance from the 1st to the 3d of the month. If, on the