But there was
no such thing as credit there. Bills were presented every
evening, to those lodgers who did not pay in advance: and he who
could not, or would not, settle the score, even if he were
Excellency or Prince, was requested to depart at once, and his
trunks were held as security.
When M. Fortunat entered the office of the hotel, a woman, with a
crafty looking face, was holding a conference with an elderly
gentleman, who had a black velvet skullcap on his head, and a
magnifying glass in his hand. They applied their eyes to the
glass in turn, and were engaged in examining some very handsome
diamonds, which had no doubt been offered in lieu of money by some
noble but impecunious foreigner. On hearing M. Fortunat enter,
the woman looked up.
"What do you desire, monsieur?" she inquired, politely.
"I wish to see Madame Lucy Huntley."
The woman did not reply at first, but raised her eyes to the
ceiling, as if she were reading there the list of all the
foreigners of distinction who honored the Hotel de Homburg by
their presence at that moment. "Lucy Huntley!" she repeated. "I
don't recollect that name! I don't think there's such a person in
the house--Lucy Huntley! What kind of a person is she?"
For many reasons M. Fortunat could not answer. First of all, he
did not know. But he was not in the least disconcerted, and he
avoided the question without the slightest embarrassment, at the
same time trying to quicken the woman's faulty memory.
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