Monsieur filled up the tentative hiatus in the manner which occurred to him as the most tactical and uncompromising: “And his belle-sœur”—and turned to Fifine:—
“What do you say, m’amie?”
I was just apprehensive that she might flush and look down; but I did her intelligence an injustice.
“Il ne choisit pas qui emprunte,” she said, turning away, with a little laugh. “It is either that, I suppose, or the troglodyte caves” (a number of which I had pointed out to her by the road). “Let us go and see the rooms anyhow.”
She exclaimed with pleasure when she did see them—not on account of their really luxurious comfort and cleanliness, but because of the view from their windows. And truly it was magnificent, looking, as we did, from the back of the house over the way we had come, and the whole extended panorama of the valley.
“It must be the little room for me,” said Fifine steadily in a moment.
“As you will,” I answered.
“Obviously,” she said, “as you will arrive later to bed, and leave it earlier than I.”
The landlord was all gratification.
“It is, after all, just a matter of sentiment,” said he; “and there is no particular virtue in a corridor. Still, if Mademoiselle prefers it, M. Cabarus, who announced your forthcoming, would doubtless exchange with Mademoiselle.”