THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN
after all—then there may be another way. Is it not so? Ah, we will see! She is very happy now. Only I am getting nervous; she stays so long I am afraid that Monsieur Lemois may find out,” and she shot an anxious glance up the garden.
“What did the stall cost, Leà?” I asked, flattening the knives beside the plates as I talked, my eye on the kitchen door so Lemois should not surprise us.
“Oh, a great sum—one hundred and ten francs. Two knives here, if you please, monsieur.”
“Well, where did it come from—their savings?” obeying her directions as I spoke.
“No—not his money nor his mother’s; she could not spare so much. She must be buried some time, and there must always be money enough for that. All Gaston knows is that the chief of the market came to his house and left the receipt with the permit. It is for a year.”
“Well—somebody must have paid. Who was it?” I had finished with the knives and had begun on the forks and tablespoons.
“Yes—there was somebody, perhaps it was madame la marquise?” and she turned quickly
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