But it so happened that Herminie, a tall, slim, languid creature that she
was, gorged with novel-reading, also proved in her way a distinguished
figurehead for the office. She was already thirty and was still
unmarried, feeling indeed nothing but loathing for all the mothers laden
with whining children by whom she was surrounded. Moreover, M. Broquette,
her father, though now more than five-and-seventy, secretly remained the
all-powerful, energetic director of the place, discharging all needful
police duties, drilling new nurses like recruits, remaining ever on the
watch and incessantly perambulating the three floors of his suspicious,
dingy lodging-house.
La Couteau was waiting for Mathieu in the doorway. On perceiving
Constance, whom she did not know, for she had never previously met her,
she seemed surprised. Who could that lady be? what had she to do with the
affair? However, she promptly extinguished the bright gleam of curiosity
which for a moment lighted up her eyes; and as Herminie, with
distinguished nonchalance, was at that moment exhibiting a party of
nurses to two gentlemen in the office, she took her visitors into the
empty refectory, where the atmosphere was as usual tainted by a horrible
stench of cookery.
Pages:
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467