Part 22 (1/2)
”Good day!” cried she.
Vagualame pretended to wake up with a start.
”Ha, ha! Good day, Nichoune! Tell me, you have not seen Belfort? Eh?”
”How do you know that?” demanded Nichoune, on the defensive. She looked surprised.
”I have just met him.... He told me that he had not come across you at the usual meeting-place.”
Nichoune lowered her head.
”I thought I was being followed ... so, as you can understand, I did not go.”
Vagualame nodded approval.
”Good! Quite right! After all, it is not otherwise of importance. You must give me back my envelope now!”
”You want it?”
”Why, of course!”
Nichoune hesitated a second.
”Just fancy, Vagualame, I took the precaution to hide it between my two mattresses! Wait!... Here it is!”
Nichoune held out his letter.
”Thank you, my dear!”
Vagualame looked as if the returning of the doc.u.ment was a matter of the most perfect indifference to him. He gazed hard at Nichoune--stared so fixedly at her that she demanded:
”Whatever possesses you to stare at me like that?”
”I am thinking how pretty you are!”
”Well, I never! You are becoming quite complimentary!”
”It's no flattery. I think you are very pretty, Nichoune, but your hands! They are not pretty!”
The singer laughed and held out her little hands.
”What is there about them you have to find fault with?”
”They are red.... It astonishes me that a woman like you does not know how to make them white!... Don't you know what to do to them?”
”No! What must I do?”
”Why,” retorted the old musician, ”the very first thing you have to do is as simple as A B C! All you have to do is to tie up your hands every night with a ribbon, and so keep them raised above your head!”...