"Have you noticed one thing about her,
gentlemen--her extraordinary likeness to Bernadette? There, on the wall
yonder, is a photograph of Bernadette when she was eighteen years old."
Pierre and M. de Guersaint drew near to examine the portrait, whilst
Majeste exclaimed: "Bernadette, yes, certainly--she was rather like
Apolline, but not nearly so nice; she looked so sad and poor."
He would doubtless have gone on chattering, but just then the waiter
appeared and announced that there was at last a little table vacant. M.
de Guersaint had twice gone to glance inside the dining-room, for he was
eager to have his /dejeuner/ and spend the remainder of that fine Sunday
out-of-doors. So he now hastened away, without paying any further
attention to Majeste, who remarked, with an amiable smile, that the
gentlemen had not had so very long to wait after all.
To reach the table mentioned by the waiter, the architect and Pierre had
to cross the dining-room from end to end. It was a long apartment,
painted a light oak colour, an oily yellow, which was already peeling
away in places and soiled with stains in others. You realised that rapid
wear and tear went on here amidst the continual scramble of the big
eaters who sat down at table. The only ornaments were a gilt zinc clock
and a couple of meagre candelabra on the mantelpiece. Guipure curtains,
moreover, hung at the five large windows looking on to the street, which
was flooded with sunshine; some of the fierce arrow-like rays penetrating
into the room although the blinds had been lowered.
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