“I ought, perhaps, to have given him your key,” she said.
“And why so, pray?”
“Oh! I don’t know, an idea of mine, that’s all. Besides, Mlle. Lucienne can probably tell you more about it; for she was there when the gentleman came, and I even think that they exchanged a few words in the yard.”
Maxence, seeing that they were only seeking a pretext to question him, took his key, and inquired,
“Is—Mlle. Lucienne at home?”
“Can’t tell. She has been going and coming all the morning, and I don’t know whether she finally staid in or out. One thing is sure, she waited for you last night until after twelve; and she didn’t like it much, I can tell you.”
Maxence started up the steep stairs; and, as he reached the upper stories, a woman’s voice, fresh and beautifully toned, reached his ears more and more distinctly.
She was singing a popular tune,—one of those songs which are monthly put in circulation by the singing Cafés—
“To hope! O charming word,
Which, during all life,
Husband and children and wife
Repeat in common accord!
When the moment of success
From us ever further slips,
‘Tis Hope from its rosy lips
Whispers, To-morrow you will bless.
‘Tis very nice to run,
But to have is better fun.”
“She is in,” murmured Maxence, breathing more freely.