The Reddons lived on the fourth floor back of an old lantern-jawed building that tilted uphill behind Ste. Geneviève. Milly found the stairs steep and dark and the odor of the old building anything but pleasant. Marion assured her cheerfully that the smell was not unhealthy, and as they kept their windows open most of the time they did not mind it. The three little rooms of the apartement meublée were dingy, to say the least, but they looked out over the clock tower of Ste. Geneviève into an old college garden.
"I make Sam get the coffee mornings, and I do the déjeuner; then an old woman comes in to clean us up and cook dinner, if we don't go out. Sam is rather given to the student cafes."
Mrs. Reddon moved dexterously within the confined limits of the closet kitchen and continued to describe her household. "You see we pay only thirty dollars a month for this place, and I cover the housekeeping bills with another thirty or a little more."
"Heavens! How can you do it?" Milly gasped.
Their pension was over that amount apiece.
"It's cheaper than anything at home, and lots more fun!"
Presently Sam Reddon came whistling upstairs. He stopped in histrionic surprise at sight of Milly.
"Not really, Milady! How did you find your way?"
"By accident."
"Ma," he sang out to his wife, "you aren't going to try one of your historic stews on Mrs. Bragdon—our one fashionable visitor of the season? Don't you think we had better make an occasion of this and adjourn to Foyot's?"