It wasn't the sort of place into which one would drop from
the skies by pure chance, either. I was lucky to find a ready-made
explanation.
"But assuredly," said I.
She disappeared into the kitchen, returned immediately with a candle,
and led me up the stone staircase on the left of the courtyard, talking
volubly all the while.
"We have had many artists here," she declared; "many friends of
monsieur, doubtless. Since monsieur is of that fine profession, his
room will be but four francs daily; his dinner, three francs; his little
breakfast, a franc alone."
"Madame," I responded, "it is plain that the high cost of living, which
terrorizes my country, does not exist at Bleau."
Equally plain, I thought pessimistically, was the explanation. My
saddest forebodings were realized; if the name of the hotel meant
anything and three kings ever tarried here, that conjunction of
sovereigns had put up with housing of a distinctly primitive sort. My
room was clean, I acknowledged thankfully, but that was all I could say
for it. I eyed the bowl and pitcher gloomily, the hard-looking bed, the
tiny square of carpeting in the center of the stone floor.
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