The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin Read Online Free PDF

kidding!’
    She didn’t seem very bothered.
     Just curious.
    â€˜Who by?’
    â€˜They don’t know. They found
     his body in a laundry basket.’
    The peignoir was thrown on the bed. Jean
     turned round as she was pulling down her slip and taking a dress from the
     cupboard.
    â€˜Ah well, that’ll cause some
     trouble for me.’
    â€˜When you left the Gai-Moulin, did
     he come with you?’
    â€˜No, I left on my own.’
    â€˜Ah!’
    â€˜Anyone
     would think you don’t believe me! Do you really imagine I bring all the
     customers home with me? I’m a dancer, kid. My job is to try and get them to
     buy a lot of drinks. But once the doors are closed, that’s it.’
    â€˜Still, with
     René …’
    He realized that he had put his foot in
     it.
    â€˜What about René?’
    â€˜Nothing. He told me—’
    â€˜You idiot! Hand on heart, all he
     did was give me a kiss. Pass me another cigarette.’
    And, as she put on her hat:
    â€˜Off with you now! I’m going
     shopping. Come on, shut the door.’
    They went down the dark stairs, one
     after the other.
    â€˜Which way are you
     going?’
    â€˜Back to the office.’
    â€˜Will you be along
     tonight?’
    The pavement was crowded. They separated
     and a few minutes later, Jean was sitting at his desk, faced with a pile of
     envelopes to frank. Without knowing exactly why, it was sadness, rather than fear,
     that he felt most strongly. He looked round at the office papered with legal notices
     and felt disgust.
    â€˜Have you got the receipts?’
     asked the senior clerk.
    He handed them over.
    â€˜Where’s the one for the
Gazette de Liège
? You’ve forgotten the
Gazette
?’
    Catastrophe, disaster! The senior
     clerk’s tone was dramatic:
    â€˜Chabot, I have to tell you, this
     cannot go on! Work is
work, duty is duty.
     I’m going to have to talk to the boss. And now I think of it, they tell me you
     have been seen in night spots where, personally, I have never set foot. To put it
     bluntly, you’re going off the rails. Look at me when I’m talking to you!
     And you can wipe that smirk off your face. You hear? This will not do.’
    The door slammed. The young man remained
     alone, sticking down envelopes.
    At about this time, Delfosse would be
     sitting on the terrace at the Pélican, or in the cinema. The clock showed almost
     five. Chabot watched the second-hand creep forward sixty times until the hour, stood
     up, took his hat and locked the drawer.
    The man with broad shoulders was not
     outside. It was cooler. As evening approached, swathes of bluish mist rose in the
     streets, pierced by light from the shop windows and the trams.
    â€˜Read all about it!
Gazette de
     Liège
!’
    Delfosse wasn’t at the Pélican.
     Chabot looked for him in the other cafés in the centre of town that were their usual
     haunts. His legs felt heavy and his head so empty that he thought he might go home
     to bed.
    When he reached the house, he
     immediately sensed that something had happened. The kitchen door was open.
     Mademoiselle Pauline, the Polish lodger, was leaning over a figure whom Jean could
     not at first see. He went forward into the room, and the silence was broken by a
     sob. Mademoiselle Pauline, plain of feature, turned to look at him, and her
     expression was stern.
    â€˜Just look at your mother,
     Jean!’
    Madame Chabot,
     wearing her apron, was sitting with her elbows on the table, weeping copiously.
    â€˜What’s the
     matter?’
    â€˜You should know!’ retorted
     the Polish girl.
    Madame Chabot wiped her reddened eyes,
     looked at her son, and burst into tears again.
    â€˜He’ll be the death of me!
     It’s dreadful.’
    â€˜But, mother, what have I
     done?’
    Jean spoke with a voice too neutral, too
     clear. He was so frightened that he felt paralysed from head to