“No one had better bother me,” concluded he, drawing himself up to the full height of his handsome figure. “I’m no longer working for a living. The key of the loft you said, did you not, Monsieur Mouret? Wherever have we put the key of the loft, my dear?”
Madame Gourd, tenderly seated before a wood fire, the flames of which enlivened the big light room, was drinking her coffee and milk out of a silver cup. She had no idea; perhaps in one of the drawers. And, whilst soaking her toast, she did not take her eyes off the door of the servants’ staircase, at the other end of the courtyard, looking barer and severer than ever in the rain.
“Look out! here she is!” said she suddenly, as a woman appeared in the doorway.
Monsieur Gourd at once went and placed himself before his room, so as to prevent the woman from passing, whilst she slackened her footsteps with an air of anxiety.
“We have been on the look-out for her since the first thing this morning, Monsieur Mouret,” resumed he, in a low voice. “Last night we saw her pass. You know she comes from that carpenter, upstairs, the only workman we have in the house, thank goodness! And if the landlord only listened to me, he would let the room remain empty, a servant’s room which does not go with the other apartments. For one hundred and thirty francs a year, it is really not worth while having such a scum in the place—”
He interrupted himself, to ask the woman roughly:
“From upstairs, of course!” answered she, walking on.
“We’ll have no women here, understand! The man who brings you has already been told so. If you return here to sleep, I’ll fetch a policeman, that’s what I’ll do! and we’ll see if you’ll continue your goings-on in a respectable house!”
“Oh! don’t bother me!” said the woman. “I’ve a right here; I shall come if I choose.”
And she went off, followed by Monsieur Gourd’s indignation, as he talked of going up to fetch the landlord. Had any one ever heard the like! such a creature amongst respectable people, who did not tolerate the least immorality! And it seemed as though that little room occupied by a workman was the abomination of the house, a bad place, the supervision of which offended the doorkeeper’s delicacy and spoilt his rest at night.