“Mlle. Dollon? And what may you want with her?”
Surprised at this discouraging reception, Fandor, who was anything but patience personified, merely declared:
“That I propose to tell Mlle. Dollon herself in good time.”
But the virago had picked up her sticks again, preparatory to resuming her work.
“To begin with,” she announced, “you’ll not say anything at all to her, because you’re not going up to see her.”
“Not going up to see her! and pray, why?”
“That’s the orders she’s given me—that’s why!”
“Then you are the concierge?”
“Yes, I am. What then?”
Jérôme Fandor realized he would inevitably be shown the door unless he could secure the good graces of this vixen who was so conscientious in the matter of obeying orders.