“Don’t say that, Julius. You were horribly clumsy. Instead of lifting my eyelid properly, you pulled my eyelashes so far back....”
“Shall I have a try?” said Anthime. “Perhaps I shall be able to manage better.”
A facchino brought up the luggage, and Caroline lighted a lamp.
“Come, my dear,” said Veronica, “you can’t do the operation in the passage.” And she led the Baragliouls to their room.
The Armand-Dubois’ apartment was arranged round the four sides of an inner court-yard, on to which looked the windows of a corridor which ran from the entrance hall to the orangery. Into this corridor opened, first, the dining-room, then the drawing-room (an enormous badly furnished corner room, which the Armand-Dubois left unused), then two spare rooms, which had been arranged, the larger for the two Baragliouls and the smaller for Julie, and lastly the Armand-Dubois’ bedroom. All these rooms communicated with each other on the inside. The kitchen and two servants’ rooms were on the other side of the landing....
“Please, don’t all come crowding round,” moaned Marguerite. “Julius, can’t you see after the luggage?”
Veronica made her sister sit down in an arm-chair and held the lamp while Anthime set about his examination.
“Yes, it’s very much inflamed. Suppose you were to take off your bonnet?”
But Marguerite, fearing perhaps that in the disordered state of her hair certain artificial aids might become visible, declared she would take it off later; a plain bonnet with strings wouldn’t prevent her from leaning her head back against the chair.
“So, you want me to remove the mote out of your eye before I take the beam out of my own,” said Anthime, with a kind of snigger. “That seems to me very contrary to the teaching of Scripture.”