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Max by Katherine Cecil Thurston
page 41 of 365 (11%)
the hotel to retain its self-respect.

Again madame looked up. 'Monsieur was fond of his little pleasantry!
This waiter was a good boy, but slow. They did not keep a sufficiency of
servants at the Hôtel Railleux. But doubtless monsieur had noticed
that?'

The boy met her inquisitive glance with disarming frankness, but his
words when he answered gave little information.

'No. He had not as yet had time to notice anything.'

'But of course! Monsieur was a new arrival? He had come--when was it--?'
Madame appeared to search her memory.

'Yesterday.'

'But of course. Yesterday! And what a day it had been! What weather for
a long journey! It had been a long journey, had it not?'

The boy looked vague. 'Oh, it had been of a sufficient length!'

Madame toyed with the remnants of her stew. 'It had, perhaps, been a
journey from England? Monsieur was not French, although he had so
charming a fluency in the language?' Her eyes, her whole provincial,
inquisitive face begged for information, but the boy was firm.

'We are each of the country God has given us!' he informed her. Then he
added with convincing certainty that madame was without doubt
_Parisienne_.
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