“My name is Vicomte Julius de Baraglioul,” said he, rather pompously and slightly raising his hat.
“Oh, Monsieur le Comte, I really must beg you to excuse me for not having.... The passage is so very dark! Please, be so good as to come in.” (She pushed open the door of the end room.) “Lafcadio’s certain to be back in a moment. He was only going as far as the.... Oh! excuse me!”
And as Julius was going in, she brushed in front of him and darted towards a pair of ladies’ drawers, which were very indiscreetly spread out to view on a chair, and which, after an attempt at concealment had proved ineffectual, she endeavoured to make at any rate less conspicuous.
“I’m afraid the place is very untidy....
“Never mind! Never mind!” said Julius indulgently. “I’m quite accustomed to....”
Carola Venitequa was a rather large-sized, not to say plump young person; but her figure was good and she was wholesome-looking; her features were ordinary but not vulgar and not unattractive; she had gentle eyes like an animal’s and a voice that bleated. She was dressed for going out and had on a little soft felt hat, a shirt blouse, a sailor tie and a man’s collar and white cuffs.
“Have you known M. Wluiki long?”
“I might perhaps give him a message,” she remarked without answering.
“Well, I wanted to know whether he was very busy.”
“It depends.”