"
The landlady laughed archly. I buried my face in a newspaper which I
picked off the table. My lips were white and my hands shook.
"It will end in a marriage, of course," resumed Mme Gabin. "The little
widow mourned for her husband very properly, and the young man was
extremely well behaved. Well, they left last night--and, after all, they
were free to please themselves."
Just then the side door of the restaurant, communicating with the
passage of the house, opened, and Dede appeared.
"Mother, ain't you coming?" she cried. "I'm waiting, you know; do be
quick."
"Presently," said the mother testily. "Don't bother."
The girl stood listening to the two women with the precocious shrewdness
of a child born and reared amid the streets of Paris.
"When all is said and done," explained Mme Gabin, "the dear departed did
not come up to Monsieur Simoneau. I didn't fancy him overmuch; he was
a puny sort of a man, a poor, fretful fellow, and he hadn't a penny to
bless himself with. No, candidly, he wasn't the kind of husband for a
young and healthy wife, whereas Monsieur Simoneau is rich, you know, and
as strong as a Turk."
"Oh yes!" interrupted Dede. "I saw him once when he was washing--his
door was open.
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