"That is a good deal," I said hesitatingly. "Haven't you a cheaper
room, Madame Jourdain?"
"This is the only one we have now vacant, monsieur," she assured me.
I turned back toward the door with a little sigh.
"I fear I can't take it," I said.
"Monsieur does not understand," she protested. "That price, of course,
includes breakfast."
"And dinner?"
She hesitated, eying me again.
"For one dollar additional it shall include dinner."
"Done, madame!" I cried. "I pay you for a week in advance," and I
suited the action to the word. "Only," I added, "be sure to air the
room well to-morrow--it seems very close. Still, Bethune was right to
make sure that his sister could not harm herself."
"Yes," she nodded, placing the money carefully in an old purse, with
the true miserly light in her eyes. "Yes--she broke down most
sudden--it was the departure of her mother, you know, monsieur."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"When they first came, six weeks ago, she was quite well. Then her
mother a position of some sort secured and went away; she never left
her room after that, just sat there and cried, or rattled at the doors
and windows. Her brother was heartbroken about her--no one else would
he permit to attend her. But I hope that she is well now, poor child,
for she is again with her mother.
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