“Babette!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, from the next room, “Mr. Hamilton is just passing our house, and seems in perfect health. How long do you mean his quarantine to last?”
“I have no objection to his returning to-morrow,” answered Madame Rosenberg, who was arranging one of the chests of drawers in the drawing-room. “You may tell him so, if you like, this afternoon.”
“Not I!” said her husband. “You banished him, and you may recall him, too; if, however, you really wish him to return, you had better make haste, for he seems to be amusing himself very well at Havard’s, and is always surrounded by a number of acquaintances. I must confess I miss him more than I expected.”
“I wish him to return, of course,” said Madame Rosenberg, pushing in the drawers with some violence; “but, for another week or so, I must say I have no objection to his remaining where he is. I can hardly believe that he will escape the cholera—he is so careless! Always going out without a cloak, and being wet through!—wearing thin boots and no flannel waistcoat! Heating his stove and opening his windows! Running out in the middle of the night every time there is an alarm about a house on fire! What can one expect from such doings?”
“As you please, my dear,” said Mr. Rosenberg, contentedly. “You know I never had any fancy for lodgers in our house; he is the first I have been able to tolerate. I think, however, you should not allow him to pay for his apartments here and at Havard’s too!”
“Oh, of course not,” said his wife; “though I am sure that is the very last thing he would think about—he is excessively careless about money.”
“So it seems—and I suspect he is spending more than is necessary at present. He gives suppers every night.”
“I don’t believe that!”
“You may believe it—or rather believe me, for I supped with him after the theatre yesterday.”
“You?”