The window looked on to a side street, noisy with
the incessant rattling of vehicles, and so narrow that the
numerous lighted interiors of the houses opposite were visible
to the most casual observer. A smell of smoking pervaded the
room, explained by the presence of a young man, who held a
cigar in one hand, whilst he leaned half out of the window,
over the low iron balcony in front, shouting to some one in
the street below. He looked round as Madelon came in, and
slowly drew himself back into the room, exhibiting a lean,
yellow face, surrounded with dishevelled hair, and ornamented
by black unkempt beard and moustache.
"_Monsieur votre pere_ does not arrive apparently,
Mademoiselle," he said.
"I have not seen him come in, Monsieur," answered Madelon; "I
thought he was perhaps here."
"Not at all, I have seen nothing of him this evening. But this
is perhaps a trick that Monsieur le Papa is playing me; he
fears to give me his little revenge of which he spoke, and
wishes to keep out of my way. What do you say to that,
Mademoiselle?"
"I am quite sure it is not so," answered Madelon, with a
little defiant air.
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