He squinted at me through his glass, trying, with French shrewdness, to read me before answering.
"Why, yes, we have lodgings; still, a man of monsieur's habit would scarcely wish——"
"The habit does not always gauge the purse," I pointed out.
"That is true," he smiled, sipping his wine. "Monsieur then wishes a lodging?"
"I should like to look at yours."
"You understand, monsieur," he explained, "that this is a good quarter, and our rooms are not at all the ordinar' rooms—oh, no, they are quite supérior to that. They are in great demand—we have only one vacant at this moment—in fact, I am not certain that it is yet at liberty. I will call my wife."
She was summoned from behind the counter, where she presided at the money-drawer, and presented to me as Madame Jourdain. I filled a glass for her.
"Monsieur, here, is seeking a lodging," he began. "Is the one on the second floor, back, at our disposal yet, Célie?"
His wife pondered the question a moment, looking at me with sharp little eyes.
"I do not know," she said at last. "We shall have to ask Monsieur Bethune. He said he might again have need of it. He has paid for it until the fifteenth."