A bullet-headed little man in a white apron stepped up to the window and stared in the direction that Auguste's eyes had taken.
"Tiens, donc! Quelle tournure! But she is superb!" he exclaimed, as if in remonstrance.
"She is handsome—oui, sans doute; but see how she frowns! I like a woman who smiles, who coquettes, who knows how to divert herself—like Mademoiselle Lisette here, queen of my heart and life."
And Auguste bowed sentimentally to a pretty little chambermaid who came tripping up the stairs at that moment, and laid his hand upon his heart.
"You are too polite, Monsieur Auguste," Lisette responded amicably. "And at whom are you gazing so earnestly?"
"At the belle Anglaise—you can still see her, if you look—she is charmingly dressed, but——"
"She is magnificent! simply magnificent," murmured the bullet-headed Jean, who was not, like his friend, enamored of the pert Lisette. "I have never seen so splendid an Englishwoman, never! nor one who had so much the true Parisian air!"
Lisette uttered a shrill little scream of laughter. "Do you know the reason, mon ami? She is not English at all: she is a compatriot. He—the husband—he is English; but she is French, I tell you, French to the finger-tips."
"Voyons; what rooms have they?"
"They are au quatrième—they are poor—poor," said Lisette, with infinite scorn. "I wait on them a little—not much; they have been here three days, and one can see——But the gentleman, he is generous. When madame scolds, he gives me money to buy my forbearance; she has the temper of a demon, the tongue of a veritable fiend!"