bout ten o'clock at night. It was more brilliant
while it lasted, but owing to the accentuation of Marthe's
characteristics by fatigue it seldom lasted more than an hour. When
Marthe opened the door to G.J. she was at her proudest, intensely
conscious of being clean and neat, and unwilling to stand any nonsense
from anybody. Of course she was polite to G.J. as the chief friend of
the establishment and a giver of good tips, but she deprecated calls
by gentlemen in the evening, for unless they were made by appointment
the risk of complications at once arose.

The mention of an air-raid rendered her definitely inimical. Formerly
Marthe had been more than average nervous in air-raids, but she had
grown used to them and now defied them. As she kept all windows closed
on principle she heard less of raids than some people. G.J. did not
explain the circumstances. He simply asked if Madame had returned. No,
Madame had not returned. True, Marthe had not been unaware of guns and
things, but there was no need to worry; Madame must have arrived at
the theatre long before the guns started. Marthe really could not be
bothered with these unnecessary apprehensions. She had her duties to
attend to like other folks, and they were heavy, and she washed her
hands of air-raids; she accepted no responsibility for them; for her,
within the flat, they did not exist, and the whole German war-machine
was thereby foiled. G.J. was on the point of a full explanation,
but he checked himself. A recital of the circumstances would not
immediately help, and it might hinder. Concealing his astonishment at
the excesses of which unimaginative stolidity is capable, even in an
Italian, he turned down the stairs again.

He stopped in the middle of the stairs, because he did not know what
he was going to do, and he seemed to lack force for decisions. No harm
could have happened to Christine; she had run off, that was certain.
And yet--had he not often heard of the impish tricks of explosions?
Of one person being taken and another left? Was it not possible that
Christine had been blown to the other end of the street, and was now
lying there?... No! Either she was on her way home, or, automatically,
she had scurried to the theatre, which was close to St. Martin's
Street, and been too fearful to venture forth again. Perhaps she was
looking somewhere for _him_. Yet she might be dead. In any case, what
could he do? Ring up the police? It was too soon. He decided th