"Not a palace, is it?" he went on, turning to his companion. She shrugged her shoulders slightly.
"Oh, what does it matter? This room or any other!" she replied, and the indifference of tone and words matched the weariness of her manner and the carelessness of her tawdry attire.
"Well, I don't suppose we shall be here long," said her companion.
He and Victor carried the luggage into the dressing-room.
The woman took off her hat and cloak, put the former on the dresser, threw the latter carelessly across a chair and dropped wearily into another.
"Oh, I'm tired!" she sighed.
"Has anyone inquired for M. Laroque—Frederic Laroque?" the man was asking as he came back with Victor. The porter handed him a card.
"This gentleman called about an hour ago," he replied. Laroque glanced at it.
"Perissard," he nodded, half to himself.
"He said he'd come back in about an hour," he drawled.