lover, Jack the Ripper. Upon faces such as these, even during their daylight impassivity of cold mistrust, the ardour of their nocturnal secrecies was almost obscenely articulate; it required little effort of the imagination to see these women quilted in a vile, close darkness, a union of evil chemistries, locked in the grip of a criminal love, with teeth bared in the bite and shine of a profane and lawless ecstasy, and making savage moan.
Such, in fact, was the face of the young woman in the bureau of the hotel, who now looked up at him with the cold inquiry of mistrust and said:
“Monsieur?—”
“I—I’d like to get a room,” he stammered awkwardly, faltering before her hard, impassive stare, and speaking to her in her own language.
“Comment?” she said sharply, a little startled at being addressed so immediately in the language wherein she had just been holding—studious practice. “Vous désirez?—”
“Une chambre,” he mumbled—“pas trop chère.”
“Ah-h—a room! He says he wants a room, my dear,” the little woman now put in, quickly and eagerly. She hopped up briskly and came towards him with an eager gleam in her sharp old eyes, an anticipating hope in her meagre face.
“You are a stranger?” she inquired, peering sharply at him. “An American?”—with a look of eager hope.
“Yes,” he said.
“Ah-h!” her breath went in with a little intake of greedy satisfaction. “I thought so!… Yvonne! Yvonne!” she cried sharply, turning to the other woman in a state of great excitement. “He’s an American—he wants a room—he must have something good—an American,” she babbled, “the best you’ve got—”
“But yes!” cried Yvonne rising. “To be sure. At vunce!” she cried, and struck a bell, calling: “Jean! Jean!”
“But not—not,” the youth stuttered, “not the best—it’s just for me—I’m all alone,” he appealed to the smaller woman—“something not very expensive,” he said desperately.
“Ah—hah—hah!” she said, emitting a little chuckling laugh of gloating satisfaction and continuing to peer craftily up at him. “An American! And young, too.—How old are you, my boy?”
“T-t-twenty-four,” he stuttered, staring at her helplessly.
“Ah—hah—hah!” Again the little gloating laugh. “I thought so—and
