Pasbeaucoup sank into the nearest chair. He spread out his hands in a gesture that eloquently said:
“Now you’ve done it! I can’t shield you any longer!”
The debtor, albeit he was still a young man, did not appear unduly impressed. The table was across his knees, but he rose as far as it would permit and removed his hat with a flourish that sent a spray of water directly over Madame’s monument of hair. Disregarding the blatant fact that she was quite the most remarkable feature of the room, he vowed that he had not observed her upon entering, was desolated because of his oversight and ravished now to have the pleasure of once more beholding her in all her accustomed grace and charm.
Madame shrugged her shoulders higher than the walls of the cage.
“Sixty francs, twenty-five,” she said, without looking up from her task.
Ah, yes: his little account. Monsieur recalled that: there was a little account; but, so truly as his name was Seraphin and his passion Art, what a marvelous head Madame had for figures. It was of an exactitude magnificent!
When he paused, Madame said:
“Sixty francs, twenty-five.”
“But surely, Madame——” Seraphin Dieudonné was politely amazed; he did not desire to credit her with an impoliteness, and yet she seemed to imply that, unless he paid this absurdly little sum, there might be some delay in serving him in this so excellent establishment.
“C’est ça,” said Madame. “The delay will be entire.”