“You would kill the darling in five minutes,” interrupted Miss Anne.
He waved his forefinger in the air. “No, no, I have nursed the sick in my time. My dear friend,” said he, with a change of tone, “when did you go to bed last?”
“I don’t know,” she answered in some confusion. “The district nurse has helped me—and the doctor has been very good. Jean has turned the corner now. Please don’t worry. And as for your coming to live down here, it’s absurd.”
“Of course, if you formally forbid me to do so, mademoiselle, and if you don’t want to see me——”
“How can you say a thing like that? Haven’t I shown you to-day that you are welcome?”
“Dear Miss Anne,” said he, “forgive me. But what is that great vast town of London to me who know nobody there? Here in this tiny spot is concentrated all I care for in the world. Why shouldn’t I live in it?”
“You would be so dreadfully uncomfortable,” said Miss Anne, weakly.
“Bah!” cried Aristide. “You talk of discomfort to an old client of L’Hôtel de la Belle Étoile?”
“The Hotel of the Beautiful Star? Where is that?” asked the innocent lady.
“Wherever you like,” said Aristide. “Your bed is dry leaves and your bed-curtains, if you demand luxury, are a hedge, and your ceiling, if you are fortunate, is ornamented with stars.”