“I will tell you that,” she said, “when I have eaten.”
The calm insolence of it! I banged the chair down on my own foot, as I set it in place for her. She hesitated a moment before seating herself. There was a perplexed look in her eyes, between condescension and reluctance.
“No, thank you,” I said: “I couldn’t dream of it. I shall have my supper presently among the cinders.”
She ate with evident enjoyment, and in complete self-possession. Indeed I have never known a Frenchwoman, though the cynosure of a score of eyes surrounding her, show embarrassment over a solitary meal. At the end she wiped her lips and her fingers, and, putting down her napkin, leaned back.
“It was very nice,” she said. “I liked it all.”
I came from the background, to which I had considerately withdrawn, pretending to read a book.
“I am reassured,” I answered, preparing to remove the tray. “I hope the rest of my establishment is as much to your taste?”
She glanced up at me, with an indolent question:—
“Where will you sleep yourself?”
Of course: it was a reasonable query, yet it took my breath away.