“Has monsieur yet known me to forget anything?”
Horace blew out a cloud of smoke, frowning at his thoughts....
He put his hand in the breast-pocket of his coat and drew out a bundle of banknotes. He beckoned the old man to him; put five of them into his hand, and shut the old fingers upon them:
“My friend,” said he, putting his hand on the old fellow’s shoulder—“there will always be here, early every morning for an hour or so, a woman, une femme de ménage, to make beds and brush and sweep and keep things tidy—besides, you and madam will, I know, have business up in this part of the house—at times that will just happen to be useful to the young lady who is coming here. There will be water wanted, and breakfast rolls and milk and things. And—I shall not forget that you do not forget them.”
The old man nodded, smiled.
“I will have business on the sixth floor morning and evening, monsieur,” he said—“and my wife also; I know of an excellent woman.”
“Good!... Now put out the lights.”
The old man shuffled round the room, and blew out the candles....
They locked the door and went down the stairs together.
Horace turned suddenly on the first landing: