"
The lady seemed to sink into a stupor, and bending her head in silence
stared at the floor. Fanny, sitting upright in bed, waited for her to
speak. The _>concierge_, her face still as an image, waited too.
Philippe's mother began to sway upon her stick.
"Do please sit down," said Fanny, breaking the silence at last.
"When will you go?" demanded the old lady, suddenly.
"Go?"
"Who gave you that lamp? That is mine." She pointed to a glass lamp
which stood upon the table.
"It is all yours," said Fanny, humbly.
"Mademoiselle borrowed it," said the voice of the _concierge_. "I lent
it to her."
"Why are my things lent when I am absent? My armchair--dirty, soiled,
torn! Paul's picture--there is a hole in the corner. Who made that hole
in the corner?"
"I didn't," said Fanny feebly, wishing that she were dressed and upon
her feet.
"Madame, a Turkish officer made the hole. I spoke to him about it; he
said it was the German colonel who was here before him. But I am sure it
was the Turk."
"A Turk!" said Philippe's mother in bewilderment. "So you have allowed a
Turk to come in here!"
"Madame does not understand."
"Oh, I understand well enough that my house has been a den! The house
where I was born--All my things, all my things--You must give that
lamp back!"
"Dear madame, I will give everything back, I have hurt nothing--"
"Not ruined my carpet, my mother's carpet! Not soiled my walls, written
your name upon them, cracked my windows, filled my room downstairs with
rubbish, broken my furniture--But I am told this is what I must expect!"
Fanny looked at her, petrified.
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