his dinner!" And the distressed bookkeeper, bill in hand, shattered
the trio.

"And why will he not pay?" Fire leapt into the black eyes.

"He says you told him the night he came that by arrangement he could
have his dinners for one franc fifty."

Madame la Propriétaire made two strides towards the refractory English
monsieur. "_I_ told you one franc fifty? For _déjeuner_, yes, as many
luncheons as you can eat. But for dinner? You eat with us as one of
the family, and _vin compris_ and _café_ likewise, and it should
be all for one franc fifty! _Mon Dieu!_ it is to ruin oneself. Come
here." And she seized the surprised Anglo-Saxon by the wrist and
dragged him towards a painted tablet of prices that hung in a dark
niche of the hall. "I have kept this hotel for twenty years, I have
grown grey in the service of artists and students, and this is the
first time one has demanded dinner for one franc fifty!"

"_She_ has grown grey!" contemptuously muttered Madame Valière.

"Grey? She!" repeated Madame Dépine, with no less bitterness. "It is
only to give herself the air of a _grande dame_!"

Then both started, and coloured to the roots of their wigs.
Simultaneously they realised that they had spoken to each other.