“No,” said the other. “I said to myself that first I would ask you for a counsel.”
“Then will they pay all that for a room they haven’t seen?”
“The fact is,” said Madame Foucault, sheepishly. “The lady has seen the room before. I know her a little. It is a former tenant. She lived here some weeks.”
“In that room?”
“Oh no! She was poor enough then.”
“Where are they?”
“In the corridor. She is very well, the lady. Naturally one must live, she like all the world; but she is veritably well. Quite respectable! One would never say ... Then there would be the meals. We could demand one franc for the cafe au lait, two and a half francs for the lunch, and three francs for the dinner. Without counting other things. That would mean over five hundred francs a month, at least. And what would they cost us? Almost nothing! By what appears, he is a plutocrat ... I could thus quickly repay you.”
“Is it a married couple?”
“Ah! You know, one cannot demand the marriage certificate.” Madame Foucault indicated by a gesture that the Rue Breda was not the paradise of saints.
“When she came before, this lady, was it with the same man?” Sophia asked coldly.