Petra, thus kept awake, sank into her
own thoughts; again footfalls were heard in the corridor, this time
light and rapid. Then came the rasping of the shutter-bolt of a
balcony that was being opened cautiously.
"One of them has got up," thought Petra. "What can the fuss be now?"
In a few minutes the voice of the landlady was heard shouting
imperiously from her room:
"Irene! ... Irene!"
"Well?"
"Come in from the balcony."
"And why do I got to come in?" replied a harsh voice in rough,
ill-pronounced accents.
"Because you must ... That's why."
"Why, what am I doing in the balcony?"
"That's something you know better than I."
"Well, I don't know."
"Well, I do."
"I was taking the fresh air."
"I guess you're fresh enough."
"You mean you are, senora."
"Close the balcony. You imagine that this house is something else."
"I? What have I done?"
"I don't have to tell you. For that sort of thing there's the house
across the way, across the way."
"She means Isabel's," thought Petra.
The balcony was heard to shut suddenly; steps echoed in the entry,
followed by the slamming of a door. For a long time the landlady
continued her grumbling; soon came the murmuring of a conversation
carried on in low tones. Then nothing more was heard save the
persistent shrilling of the neighbouring cricket, who continued to
scrape away at his disagreeable instrument with the determination of a
beginner on the violin.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25