He rose and shook hands with the two. “You have a lodging to go to, my poor children?” he asked anxiously.
With a deep blush, Corsini assured him that they had a lodging to go to; he did not dare to give him the address. Dean Street was a comparatively aristocratic abode. Papa Péron’s humbly furnished room seemed a Paradise. And the piano was good—that must have been saved from the prosperous day—and was his own. No Soho landlady would provide such a piano as that.
Péron shook them warmly by the hand. “You must come and see me to-morrow. I shall be in all the morning. I shall think things over between now and then. I am a poor man myself, but I may be able to help you with introductions. I must get you out of these miserable streets.”
They walked home, wondering about Papa Péron. Who could he be? Anita inclined to the belief that he was a miser. Nello had his doubts.
Still very hungry, they bought some sausages on their way home and devoured them before they went to bed. They still had a substantial balance on hand, according to the thrifty Anita.
And the next morning, Nello was round at Dean Street to learn what Papa Péron had thought of in the meanwhile.