WHITEWASH
it been, now, the little sisters of Number 10, one might understand, but this white-haired woman—and in mourning, and of a deepness!—truly she wore as much crêpe as the funeral pomps—"
"What's her name?" inquired Valdeck, impatiently.
"Oh, a Madame Duval. Very ordinary name—from Marseilles—very ordinary place. Would monsieur have cognac with his coffee?—no?—Would monsieur have the obligeance to put the tray outside the door when finished?—a thousand thanks," and Gustave pounded his way down-stairs once more.
Valdeck, left alone, dismissed the thought of his neighbor, as he took a long drink from the now half-emptied bottle. His ears were ringing and his oppression and anxiety lifted a little. He ate with more relish than he had expected, and pushing back his chair, lighted a cigarette. Gradually the world receded, the blue rings of smoke spread and hung gently in the air, his brain was tranced in a not unpleasant numbness. He was still conscious that he was menaced in some way, but he no longer clung to details. Only the face of
