"Monsieur?" Her manner was curt—the manner of one who has been disturbed at some engrossing occupation.
Max felt rebuffed; he raised his hat and bowed with as close an imitation as he could summon of Blake's ingratiating friendliness.
"Madame, you have an appartement to let?"
"True, monsieur! An appartement on the fifth floor—gas and water." There was pride in the last words, if a grudging pride.
"Precisely! And it is a good appartement?"
"No better in Montmartre."
"A sufficiency of light?"
'Light?' The woman smiled in scorn. 'Was it not open to the skies—with those two windows in front, and that balcony?'
Max's excitement kindled.
"Madame, I must see this appartement! May I mount now—at once?"