"Let us have a look at the garden," said the doctor, with a laugh.
One of the boasts of the establishment, indeed, as set forth in its
prospectus, was a garden and a tree in it, as if there were plenty of
good air there, as in the country. They opened the glass door, and on a
bench near the tree they saw a plump girl, who doubtless had just
arrived, pretending to clean a squealing infant. She herself looked
sordid, and had evidently not washed since her journey. In one corner
there was an overflow of kitchen utensils, a pile of cracked pots and
greasy and rusty saucepans. Then, at the other end, a French window gave
access to the nurses' waiting-room, and here again there was a nauseous
spectacle of dirt and untidiness.
All at once Monsieur Broquette darted forward, though whence he had come
it was hard to say. At all events, he had seen Boutan, who was a client
that needed attention. "Is my wife busy, then?" said he. "I cannot allow
you to remain waiting here, doctor. Come, come, I pray you."
With his little ferreting eyes he had caught sight of the dirty girl
cleaning the child, and he was anxious that his visitors should see
nothing further of a character to give them a bad impression of the
establishment.
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