Everything is simpler than one thinks, and everything is
easier, and it seems to me that--

Someone is knocking at the door.

"May I come in?"

The landlady, Mme. Noel.

Mme. Noel is more of an imp than a woman. She has the figure, the voice,
and the darting roguishness of a slim young thing of twelve.

When I was getting settled the first morning, I suddenly heard her
insect-step close by--I had left my door open--and without giving me
time to draw back, she besieged me with questions:

"How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know."

"Guess anything."

"Thirty-four ... thirty-three ... thirty."

On looking at her closely a few seconds, it seemed to me she was
probably forty.

"Fifty-two, my dear!" To convince me of her age she stuck her finger
under a slab of hair waved and dyed red and actually exposed an
abundance of fading white hair.

Her face was no bigger than a fist, with cheeks like baked apples. Her
shrewd naked eyes pried about. She came farther into the room and
perched lightly on one of my rickety pieces of furniture, balancing it
with her body. Then she began to unfold the story of her life,
rummaging, unpacking, digging it up by huge armfuls: her husband, her
lover, and then another, a painter she adored. The first one came
back.... Love, adventures.... So it is possible to speak about your love
and adventures?

Before leaving me--I was quite dazed; which must have been
evident--lowering her voice a little:

"_He_ is so good.... I myself am not crazy about him, but _he_ loves me
so...."

"He?"

"The boarding-house--it is not only for what it pays, you understand.
It's for _the company_!"

"The company?"

With the springy elegance of a cat, her tapering elbows breaking the
evenness of her outline, Mme. Noel slid on to the bed. The mattress
reared up, the coverings billowed, the pillow, struck slantwise, was
about to fall. But she needed so little room, and she carefully patted
the hollow she made for herself.

"Well, is there nothing you want?... Ah, these young things--a
handkerchief round their heads and they still look pretty."

Instinctively I pulled off my handkerchief. I stammered: "To keep off
the dust" and--what could I do to make her go?--I smiled awkwardly.

"Oh, by the way, I came near forgetting to tell you. If ... you want to
receive in your room ... after all, what of it? You surely have
somebody.... It's just between us women. A beautiful girl like you, it
would