The Councillor read these words written in pencil:
“I have waited in vain, you old wretch! A woman of my quality does
not expect to be kept waiting by a retired perfumer. There was no
dinner ordered—no cigarettes. I will make you pay for this!”
“Well, is that her writing?”
“Good God!” gasped Hulot, sitting down in dismay. “I see all the things she uses—her caps, her slippers. Why, how long since—?”
Crevel nodded that he understood, and took a packet of bills out of the little inlaid cabinet.
“You can see, old man. I paid the decorators in December, 1838. In October, two months before, this charming little place was first used.”
Hulot bent his head.
“How the devil do you manage it? I know how she spends every hour of her day.”
“How about her walk in the Tuileries?” said Crevel, rubbing his hands in triumph.
“What then?” said Hulot, mystified.