The bewildered, wild-eyed servant maid opened a door and showed him into a heavily-gilt, heavily-plush drawing-room with a great deal of frantic grandeur about it. There he sat and cooled his heels for half an hour. Arrived at length a stout young lady—handsome, with big dark-blue Italian eyes—but anaemic and too stout.
“Oh!” she said as she entered, not knowing what else to say.
“Good-morning,” said Aaron awkwardly.
“Oh, good-morning! English! Yes! Oh, I am so sorry to keep you, you know, to make you wait so long. I was upstairs, you know, with a lady. Will you sit?”
“Can I have a room?” said Aaron.
“A room! Yes, you can.”
“What terms?”
“Terms! Oh! Why, ten francs a day, you know, pension—if you stay—How long will you stay?”
“At least a month, I expect.”
“A month! Oh yes. Yes, ten francs a day.”