She gave a sorrowful shrug of the shoulders, "Oh! Monsieur—the proprietor. I know what he is now—the proprietor!"
Mariolle was touched, and a little angry; he said to her: "Tell me what it was all about."
She told him of the brutal conduct of the two painters immediately upon their arrival the night before, and then began to cry again, asking what she was to do, alone in the country and without friends or relatives, money or protection.
Mariolle suddenly said to her: "Will you enter my service? You shall be well treated in my house, and when I return to Paris you will be free to do what you please."
She looked him in the face with questioning eyes, and then quickly replied: "I will, Monsieur.
"How much are you earning here?"
"Sixty francs a month," she added, rather uneasily, "and I have my share of the pourboires besides; that makes it about seventy."
"I will pay you a hundred."
She repeated in astonishment: "A hundred francs a month?"
"Yes. Is that enough?"