Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/63

friend in through the back entrance, it occurred to her, but then Anna might be offended. Maybe it would be best to go up alone first, and see how the land lay. She promptly introduced Anna to Madame Dabbie and, asking her to wait, went upstairs.

Monique was standing in front of the mirror. The unexpected telephone call she had just received from her friend Rae upset her plans. She hadn't expected her until next Thursday. Now it would be impossible to put her off; her whole future depended on the cooperation of Rae and her husband, a well-known Britisher who was famous throughout the length and breadth of the Cote d'Azure for his fine art collection. And meanwhile that old fossil, Lepetit, would be waiting for her.

She had just finished the last touches on her carefully madeup face when Mary appeared at the door.

"Is that you, Mary?" Monique's voice had a throaty huskiness copied from Marlene Dietrich.

"Who'd you expect? Casanova?" Mary answered with her customary jollity.

"You can hold your jokes for later," the blonde Monique retorted. "Here, please help me on with my dress. But be careful. It's very expensive. Genuine lace."

"My, oh my! And you the daughter of a simple tailor! I'll bet you just couldn't live with anything less expensive," Mary murmured softly in Jewish.

"S'il vous plaît?" Monique asked.

"Oh, nothing. I just said that it was raining."

"Again?" Monique shrugged. She smoothed her hands over her satin-clad hips. "And I've got all ready for nice weather. Oh, by the way, Mary," she continued, "I've a favor to ask of you. Not really a favor. Because I'll pay you for it, and besides, you'll find it very amusing. But one thing-you've