Read The Hotel Majestic for Free Online Page B

toilet articles: brushes, combs, a manicure set, every conceivable shade of powder, rouge and so on . . .
    â€œIt’s always the same when you dance with him. Give me another pair of stockings, Charlotte . . .”
    A plump young woman in an evening dress was sitting on a chair and had already taken off one stocking. She sat there with her skirt hitched up, inspecting her bare foot, while Charlotte rummaged in a drawer.
    â€œSize 44, sheer ones, again?”
    â€œYes, that will do. I’ll take those. If a bloke doesn’t know how to dance, he ought at least . . .”
    She caught sight of Maigret in the glass and went on putting on her new stockings, glancing at him occasionally as she did so. Charlotte turned round. She, too, saw the superintendent, who saw her turn visibly paler.
    â€œAh! It’s you . . .”
    She forced a laugh. She was no longer the same woman who had put her feet on the hob and who stuffed herself with pastries, in the little house in Saint-Cloud.
    Her blonde hair was dressed with so much care that the waves seemed permanently glued in place. Her skin was a sugary pink. Her rounded figure was sheathed in a very simple black silk dress, over which she wore a frilly little lace apron of the kind usually only worn by soubrettes in the theatre.
    â€œI’ll pay for those with the rest, Charlotte . . .”
    â€œYes, all right . . .”
    The girl realized that the stranger was only waiting for her to go and, as soon as she had her shoes on again, she hurried upstairs.
    Charlotte, who was making a show of tidying the brushes and combs, was finally forced to ask: “What do you want?”
    Maigret didn’t answer. He had sat down on the chair left vacant by the girl with the laddered stockings. As he was in the basement he seized the chance of filling his pipe, slowly, with immense care.
    â€œIf you think I know anything, you’re mistaken . . .”
    It is a strange fact that women who have a placid temperament are the ones who show their emotions the most. Charlotte was trying to keep calm, but she couldn’t prevent the waves of colour mounting to her face, or her hands moving so clumsily over the toilet articles that she dropped a nail-polisher.
    â€œI could see, from the way you looked at me, just now, when you visited our house, that you thought . . .”
    â€œI take it you never knew a dancer or nightclub hostess called Mimi, is that correct?”
    â€œNo, never!”
    â€œAnd yet you were a bar girl in Cannes for a long time . . . You were there at the same time as this Mimi . . .”
    â€œThere isn’t only one nightclub in Cannes, and you don’t meet everyone, you know . . .”
    â€œYou were at the Belle Étoile, weren’t you?”
    â€œWhat if I was?”
    â€œNothing . . . I just wanted to come and have a chat with you . . .”
    They were silent for at least five minutes, because a customer came down, washed his hands, combed his hair, then asked for a cloth to polish his patent-leather shoes with. When he had finally left a five-franc piece in the saucer, the superintendent continued: “I feel great sympathy for Prosper Donge . . . I feel sure he’s the nicest man in the world . . .”
    â€œOh yes! You don’t know how good he is!” she cried fervently.
    â€œHe had a miserable childhood and he seems to have always had to struggle for . . .”
    â€œAnd do you know he didn’t pass any exams at school and everything he’s learnt he’s taught himself? . . . If you look in his still-room you’ll find books which people like us don’t usually read . . . He’s always had a passion for learning things . . . He always dreamt of . . .”
    She suddenly stopped, tried to regain her composure.
    â€œDid I hear the telephone ring?”
    â€œNo, I don’t think so . . .”
    â€œWhat was I saying?”
    â€œThat he always dreamt of . . .”
    â€œOh