I must do something to eat as I had departed from Tetuan without telling my protector."
"I guess that's what they mean by 'French leave,'" contributed Lucy.
"Exactly." Simone smiled. "So I said, Simone, when you are alone you sing these childhood songs for yourself; if you must do this at least do it where people will pay for you to sing to yourself. And so fortunately I got a job in a small café where I need pay attention to no one and I worked hard because I discovered I was not singing to myself but that each song was singing to me, telling me things which I knew and many I did not until I was told by the music and words. I had to invent personal methods of singing to make up for my lost voice. Now no one remembers Simone Calvette of the Opéra Comique and I tell you it is just as well, because when I go there now I can not distinguish one Fille du Regiment from another save for the name on the program. And now let us have a fresh drink."
The one-sided light from the lamp seemed to age her face on which the pores of her skin pierced her makeup like inked periods in her life, though, as she told the story, she became more fascinating than ever, thought Lucy entranced.
"That was a wonderful story and though, because I don't know a thing about music, I don't understand about the songs singing to you and telling you things, I do sort of feel what you mean and I think it would be good for me to take music lessons so I would know more about what I should express. I want more than anything else to be an artist, like you. I wish you would talk some more."
"We artists of the theatre shall help each other," Simone said cryptically.
Eight o'clock, told the clock to itself as no one would listen.
Lucy straightened the dress bunched under her.
"You are not comfortable. Come, take off your dress. I have a robe that would suit you."
"Well," Lucy said doubtfully, but could not resist seeing what Simone would produce.
A wide-sleeved magenta satin, gold-encrusted Moroccan robe was held open, and she let herself be folded into it. She sniffed its folds. "It's beautiful and it smells good too, like some kind of tea or incense, what is it?"
"Oh, some sachet," Simone said, not wishing to mention hashish.
Her voice was unsteady from the sight of that pearly body against
