Gaston closed the door after him, and found himself in a moderately
large room, with one window looking on to the garden, and having a
dressing-table with a mirror in front of it. There were two beds,
one on each side, and on the farthest of these Pierre was sleeping
heavily, not even Gaston's entrance having roused him. Going over to
him, Vandeloup touched him slightly, and with a spring the dumb man
sat up in bed as if he expected to be arrested, and was all on the
alert to escape.
'It's only I, my friend,' said Gaston, in French, crossing over to
the other bed and sitting on it. 'Come here; I wish to speak to
you.'
Pierre rose from his sleeping place, and, stumbling across the room,
stood before Gaston with downcast eyes, his shaggy hair all tossed
and tumbled by the contact with the pillow. Gaston himself coolly
relit his cigarette, which had gone out, threw his straw hat on the
bed, and then, curling one leg inside the other, looked long and
keenly at Pierre.
'You saw Madame's husband to-day?' he said sharply, still eyeing the
slouching figure before him, that seemed so restless under his
steady gaze.
Pierre nodded and shuffled his large feet.
'Did he want to know about his wife?'
Another nod.
'I thought so; and about the new nugget also, I presume?'
Still another nod.
'Humph,' thoughtfully. 'He'd like to get a share of it, I've no
doubt.
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