The
furniture of the office was some old Empire stuff, upholstered in red
velvet. There was a little mahogany centre table, and a gilt clock. Then,
on the left of the passage, near the kitchen, was the general refectory,
with two long tables, covered with oilcloth, and surrounded by straggling
chairs, whose straw seats were badly damaged. Just a make-believe sweep
with a broom was given there every day: one could divine long-amassed,
tenacious dirt in every dim corner; and the place reeked with an odor of
bad cookery mingled with that of sour milk.
When Boutan thrust open the office door he saw that Madame Broquette was
busy with an old gentleman, who sat there inspecting a party of nurses.
She recognized the doctor, and made a gesture of regret. "No matter, no
matter," he exclaimed; "I am not in a hurry: I will wait."
Through the open door Mathieu had caught sight of Mademoiselle Herminie,
the daughter of the house, ensconced in one of the red velvet armchairs
near the window, and dreamily perusing a novel there, while her mother,
standing up, extolled her goods in her most dignified way to the old
gentleman, who gravely contemplated the procession of nurses and seemed
unable to make up his mind.
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