When she had, more or less, ascertained these attractive details, Louie stood still in the middle of M. Dubois' apartment. 'What did he tell all those lies for?' she said to David fiercely. For in the very last communication received from him, Dubois had described himself as having made all necessary preparations '_et pour la toilette et pour le manger._' He had also asked for the rent in advance, which David with some demur had paid. 'Here's something,' cried David; and, turning a handle in the wall, he pulled a flimsy door open and disclosed what seemed a cupboard. The cupboard, however, contained a bed, some bedding, blankets, and washing arrangements; and David joyously announced his discoveries. Louie took no notice of him. She was tired, angry, disgusted. The illusion of Paris was, for the moment, all gone. She sat herself down on one of the two chairs, and, taking off her hat, she threw it from her on to the belittered table with a passionate gesture. The French girl had so far stood just outside, leaning against the doorway, and looking on with unabashed amusement while they made their inspection. Now, however, as Louie uncovered, the spectator at the door made a little, quick sound, and then ran forward. '_Mais, mon Dieu!_ how handsome you are!' she said with a whimsical eagerness, stopping short in front of Louie, and driving her little hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. 'What a head!--what eyes! Why didn't I see before? You must sit to me--you _must!_ You will, won't you? I will pay you anything you like! You sha'n't be dull--somebody shall come and amuse you. _Voyons--monsieur!_' she called imperiously. David came up. She stood with one hand on the table leaning her light weight backward, looking at them with all her eyes--the very embodiment of masterful caprice. 'Both of them!' she said under her breath, '_superbe!_' Monsieur, look here. You and mademoiselle are tired. There is nothing in these rooms. Dubois is a scamp without a sou. He does no work, and he gambles on the Bourse. Everything he had he has sold by degrees. If he has gone to Brussels now to work honestly, it is for the first time in his life. He lives on the hope of getting money out of an uncle in England--that I know, for he boasts of it to everybody. It is just like him to play a practical joke on strangers. No doubt you have paid him already--_n'est-ce pas_? I thought as much. Well, never mind! My rooms are next door. I am Elise Delaunay. I work in Taranne's _atelier_. I am an artist, pure and simple, and I live to please myself and nobody else. But I have a chair or two, and the woman downstairs looks after me because I make it worth her while. Come with me. I will give you some supper, and I will lend you a rug and a pillow for that bed. Then to-morrow you can decide what to do.'