The man, vigorous and of a martial aspect, was superintendent in a big
department store. . . . He had been a soldier in Africa, wore a military
decoration, and had the rank of sub-lieutenant in the Reserves. She was
a blonde, heavy and rather anaemic, with bright eyes and a sentimental
expression. On holidays she spent long hours at the piano, playing
musical reveries, always the same. At other times Argensola saw
her through the interior window working in the kitchen aided by her
companion, the two laughing over their clumsiness and inexperience in
preparing the Sunday dinner.
The concierge thought that this woman was a German, but she herself said
that she was Swiss. She was a cashier in a shop--not the one in which
her husband was employed. In the mornings they left home together,
separating in the Place d'Etoile. At seven in the evening they met here,
greeting each other with a kiss, like lovers who meet for the first
time; and then after supper, they returned to their nest in the rue de
la Pompe. All Argensola's attempts at friendliness with these neighbors
were repulsed because of their self-centredness. They responded with
freezing courtesy; they lived only for themselves.
The other apartment of two rooms was occupied by a single man. He was a
Russian or Pole who almost always returned with a package of books, and
passed many hours writing near the patio window.
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