Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/76

"Open," Gertrude called, and turned her trembling gaze towards the door.

The person who came in was a fat woman, broad-hipped, and enormous-breasted. Without ceremony she proceeded to make herself comfortable. She placed her black valise on the table, wiped the perspiration from her face, and asked suspiciously, "Who is the Mademoiselle?"

"A cousin," Gertrude said, forcing a pale smile to her lips.

"A cousin, eh?" The woman looked at Anna with a doubtful stare. "Well, if she's a cousin of yours, what's she sitting here doing nothing? Get moving, Mademoiselle. Boil some water, clean up the room, do something."

She rolled up her sleeves, baring her fleshly arms to the elbow, then went over and turned the key in the lock.

"I don't suppose you're expecting anybody," she said, winking coarsely. She opened the valise and took some instruments out of it, constantly babbling in her deep voice.

"So your husband works at night, eh? Well, this isn't a bad piece of night work he's managed to put over. A clever operator, eh?" When no comment was forthcoming, she went on, her voice growing more strident with every word. "What are you both so quiet for? You'd imagine it was a conspiracy. Lucky I'm not carrying any diamonds with me. What's the matter? Lost your tongue? Well, anyway. Come on, my pretty one, let me take a look at your legs? Sticks, that's what they are. You can tell him, that fine bread-winner of yours, that one more trick like this and he won't have anyone to sleep with. Look at the way she's crying! What's worrying you? That he'll have to sleep alone? Don't aggravate yourself. There's a fool born every minute. And as true as I live, more and more of them are growing up all the time. And, hey, you over there," she turned to Anna. "Get a move on you. Hand me the water. My God, as true as I live, she's