She picked herself up off the floor and
began to consider the disposal of her garments. Three or four wooden
pegs, the only accommodation to be seen, were obviously not sufficient
to hold all her clothes.
Presently there was an interlude, provided by the advent of the
landlady. Her dishevelment accorded well with the general look of the
house; her slippers clicked on the carpetless boards at every shuffling
step, and she carried a half-cold, slopped-over cup of coffee. To
Arithelli's relief the woman was mistress of a limited amount of French
patois, and in answer to a demand for a wardrobe of some kind, said she
would send up her son. He was a carpenter and would doubtless arrange
something. She gave a curious glance at the girl's witch-like beauty,
a mixture of suspicion and barely-admitted pity in her thoughts.
As to Emile's share in the drama she had naturally formed conclusions.
After a respectable interval her son arrived, and having delivered
himself of a remark in Spanish and being answered in French, proceeded
to hammer a row of enormous nails into the wall at regular intervals.
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