"You must take good care of me--so! And I am hungry--very hungry!"
It was a table d'hote luncheon for eighteen-pence, and she ate everything
that was set before her, and frequently demanded second helpings. All the
time she talked to me, sometimes in German, sometimes in broken English.
She seemed quite uneasy when I was not all the time by her side.
"My good man," she told me, "has gone away for two--three days. I am
lonely, so I eat more! Why do you smile, Herr Schmidt?"
I shook my head.
"I know what you think," she continued, her black eyes upraised to mine.
"You think that after all I am not so very lonely. Perhaps you are right.
My good man he is much older than I. Sometimes he is very tiresome."
I murmured my sympathy. Just at that moment, Guest entered and passed
through to the little office, all smiles and bows--the typical
restaurateur. Madame eyed him keenly.
"It is your uncle, the new proprietor, is it not?" she asked.
I nodded, and left her on the pretext of a summons from another table.
Something in Guest's look had told me that he wished to speak to me.
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