"I am in bed," she called.
"Nevertheless, can I come in?" asked the _concierge_.
"You may come in."
The young woman came in and closed the door after her. She approached
the bed and whispered--then glancing round the room with a shrug she
picked up a dressing-gown and held it that Fanny might slip her
arms into it.
"But what a time to come!"
"She has travelled all night. She is unfit to move."
"Must I see her now? I am hardly awake."
"I cannot keep her any longer. She was for coming straight here when the
train came in at five. I have kept her at coffee at my house. _Tant
pis!_ You have a right to be here!"
The _concierge_ drew the curtain a little wider and the cup was exposed.
She thrust it back into the shadow; the door opened and Philippe's
mother walked in. She was very tall, in black, and a deep veil hung
before her face.
"_Bonjour_, madame," she said, and her veiled face dipped in a faint
salute.
"Will you sit down?"
She took no notice of this, but leaning a little on a stick she carried,
said, "I understand that it is right that I should find my house
occupied. They told me it would be by an officer. Such occupation I
believe ceases on the return of the owner."
"Yes, madame."
"I am the owner of this house."
"Yes."
"May I ask of what nationality you are?"
The _concierge_ standing behind her, shrugged her shoulders impatiently,
as if she would say, "I have explained, and explained again!"
"I am English, madame.
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