The Dancer at the Gai-Moulin Read Online Free PDF Page B

toe.
    â€˜Leave us please, Mademoiselle
     Pauline, you’re very kind. We’ve always been poor, but we’ve
     always been honest.’
    â€˜I still don’t
     understand …’
    The student went out of the room, and
     they heard her going upstairs. She took care though to leave her bedroom door
     open.
    â€˜What have you done? Tell me
     frankly? Your father’ll be home soon. When I think that the whole district
     will know.’
    â€˜I swear I don’t know what
     you’re talking about.’
    â€˜Liar! I know you’re lying,
     since you’ve been off with Delfosse and those … those women! Half an
     hour ago, Madame Velden, the greengrocer, came in here, puffing and blowing. And
     Mademoiselle Pauline was standing right here! And in front of her, Madame Velden
     said a man had come to ask for information about you and about us. A man who must be
     from the police! And of course he had to go and pick Madame Velden, the biggest
     gossip in the district. By now, everyone will know.’
    She was on her
     feet. Automatically, she poured water into the coffee filter. Then took out a
     tablecloth from a cupboard.
    â€˜That’s what we get for
     sacrificing ourselves to bring you up! The police asking questions, and maybe even
     coming to the house. I don’t know what your father will say. But I can tell
     you
my
father would have thrown you out by now. And when I think you
     aren’t even seventeen yet! It’s all your father’s fault. He lets
     you stay out till three in the morning. And when I get cross, he takes your
     side.’
    Without knowing why, Jean felt sure the
     so-called policeman must be the man with broad shoulders. He stared desperately at
     the floor.
    â€˜So you’ve got nothing to
     say for yourself? You won’t own up to whatever it is?’
    â€˜Mother, I haven’t done
     anything wrong!’
    â€˜Why would the police be after
     you, if you haven’t done anything?’
    â€˜We don’t know it was the
     police.’
    â€˜Well, who else would it
     be?’
    Suddenly he found the courage to lie, to
     end this painful conversation.
    â€˜Perhaps it’s someone who
     might offer me a job, who’s asking for character references. I don’t
     earn much where I am now. I’ve been applying to places, trying to find
     something better.’
    She looked at him sharply.
    â€˜Are you lying?’
    â€˜I swear that—’
    â€˜Are you
     sure you and that Delfosse boy haven’t been up to some mischief?’
    â€˜I promise you, mother.’
    â€˜Well, in that case, you’d
     better go and talk to Madame Velden. We don’t want her telling everyone the
     police are after you.’
    The key turned in the front door lock.
     Monsieur Chabot took off his coat and hung it up, came into the kitchen and sat down
     in his wicker chair.
    â€˜Home already, Jean?’
    Then he saw with astonishment his
     wife’s red eyes and the young man’s sulky expression.
    â€˜What’s going on?’
    â€˜Nothing. I was telling Jean off.
     I don’t want him coming home at all hours. As if there was something wrong
     with being here, with his family.’
    And she began laying the table and
     filling cups. As they ate, Monsieur Chabot read the paper and commented on it.
    â€˜Here’s something that will
     make a stir. A body in a laundry basket! A foreigner, of course. Probably a
     spy.’
    And changing the subject:
    â€˜Did Monsieur Bogdanowski pay his
     rent?’
    â€˜Not yet. He says he’s
     waiting for some money to arrive on Wednesday.’
    â€˜He’s been waiting three
     weeks. Well, too bad. On Wednesday, you must tell him this can’t go
     on.’
    The atmosphere was heavy, full of
     familiar smells, with light glinting on the copper-bottomed pans, and the garish
     colours of an advertising calendar, still on
the wall three years later,