“Go and fetch her,” observed Mascarin, and as the man left the room, he muttered, “Experience has taught me that it is madness to neglect the smallest precaution.”
In another moment the woman appeared, and Mascarin at once addressed her with that air of friendly courtesy which made him so popular among such women. “Well, my good girl,” said he, “and so you have got the sort of place you wanted, eh?”
“I hope so, sir, but you see I have only been with Madame Zora de Chantemille since yesterday.”
“Ah, Zora de Chantemille, that is a fine name, indeed.”
“It is only a fancy name, and she had an awful row over it with master. She wanted to be called Raphaela, but he stood out for Zora.”
“Zora is a very pretty name,” observed Mascarin solemnly.
“Yes, sir, just what the maid and I told her. She is a splendid woman, and doesn’t she just squander the shiners? Thirty thousand francs have gone since yesterday.”
“I can hardly credit it.”
“Not cash, you understand, but tick. M. de Gandelu has not a sou of his own in the world, so a waiter at Potier’s told me, and he knew what was what; but the governor is rolling in money. Yesterday they had a house-warming—the dinner, with wine, cost over a thousand francs.”
Not seeing how to utilize any of this gossip, Mascarin made a gesture of dismissal, when the woman exclaimed,—