At this people really did open their eyes pretty wide
with amazement, in spite of the heat-wave. A bath-
room, if you please! And the privy in the yard being
dug up with a great deal of swearing and stinking
because Monsieur must have his closet indoors!
But what next would he have? He was doubtless a
marquis! Well, they wished he was there to enjoy
the stench, and the blowflies, and the clouds of full-
bellied mosquitoes. And what was the marquis
proposing to sell? Perfumery, perhaps — God knew it
was needed! No, but truly, what was he proposing to
sell? He was making himself a marvellous showroom,
and was actually painting the cellar walls . . .
Putting in the electric light, too, at vast cost. Why, only
important places had that — the hotel and the railway
station for example. Most sensible people were con-
tent with lamps, which were not only far less dangerous
but cheaper.
Madame Roustan was irate. All this hubbub and
stench; quite enough, she declared, to ruin her busi-
ness. And the brick-dust flying about in her shop,
and the rubble piling up in front of her door, and the
drain-pipes piling up against her back fence, and
the ladders jostling her decrepit old gutters. So
secretive they were too, the whole lot of them, from the
architect down to the dirtiest workman. Not one word
could she get as to what was afoot, no, nor any
redress, only shrugs and smiles and vague answers to
her loud and indignant questions. As for Jouse, he
was utterly unconcerned. What cared he for the
wrongs of his widowed sister! All he asked, it ap-
peared, was to be left alone: *Do not worry me,
Germaine, I cannot attend — not now — I am really
extremely busy.3 A nice brother! But then naturally
he was unaffected by the dust, and the stench, and the
droves of mosquitoes. Nor was the Cure much better,
she decided; all he did was to counsel restraint and
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