“Well, yes, that suits me.... It is agreed, dear Madame!”
But a remnant of caution made him add:
“Unless, of course, anything unforeseen occurs, unless there is some major impediment.”
Mme. Chambannes pouted reproachfully.
“Oh, dear master, it is very wrong to lay down conditions!... Are you not free, absolutely free?... Do you think that your little pupil would wish to encroach upon your occupations?”
“Your little pupil!”... How sweetly she had said that! M. Raindal was moved and apologized for himself; then he apologized equally for the ladies. Zozé did not seem offended by their defection. Had she not gained something that would console her? She was saving one hour for her dressmakers, for social calls and for Gerald, and this without losing the maste friendship. Only within herself, she thought:
“Oh! this Mlle. Raindal is getting on my nerves.”
From that day, M. Raindal was the guest of the Chambannes every Thursday.
Towards five lock he slipped on his evening clothes or a frock-coat, according to his inclination, since Zozé had left him free to dress as he pleased. He then hailed a cab and arrived in the rue de Prony at six. He stopped on his way usually at a florist and bought two or three large roses, some orchids, a very large bunch of violets or early lilac and offered them to Mme. Chambannes, whom he knew to be very fond of rare flowers. She thanked him chidingly, placed the flowers in a vase or, if they were short, kept them in her hand. Then the lesson would begin.
It was usually regulated according to certain points raised haphazard by Mme. Chambannes. The master replied with ingenuity, illustrating the past with facts from contemporary life, smoothing it over, thinning it down to the precise dimensions of his little pupi brains. Zozé smelled the flowers as she listened to him, or arched her eyebrows in order to accentuate her zeal.