The landlady gave a knowing nod.
"Don't trust to it, monsieur! Those artists, ça n'a pas de principes! From one day to another he can plant her there! I know them, allez. I've had them here very often; one year with one, another year with another."
Longmore was puzzled for a moment. Then, "You mean she's not his wife?" he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. "What shall I tell you? They are not des hommes sérieux, those gentlemen! They don't engage themselves for an eternity. It's none of my business, and I've no wish to speak ill of madame. She's a very nice little woman, and she loves her jeune homme to distraction."
"Who is she?" asked Longmore. "What do you know about her?"
"Nothing for certain; but it's my belief that she's better than he. I've even gone so far as to believe that she's a lady,—a true lady,—and that she has given up a great many things for him. I do the best I can for them, but I don't believe she's been obliged all her life to content herself with a dinner of two courses." And she turned over her lamb chops tenderly, as if to say that though a good cook could imagine better things, yet if you could have but one course, lamb chops had much in their favor. "I shall cook them with bread crumbs. Voilà les femmes, monsieur!"
