noise in the room
startled him, and made him wide awake. He was not alone. Something had
fallen to the floor, and a voice exclaimed impatiently. Peering through
his lids, he looked out beyond the will which had first chained his
attention. His eyes fell on the back of a woman, who was sitting in
front of one of the windows, doing her hair. In her hand she held a
pair of curlingtongs, and, before her, on the foot-end of the sofa, a
hand-glass was propped up. Her hair was thick and blond. She wore a
black silk chemise, which had slipped low on her plump shoulders; a
shabby striped petticoat was bound round her waist, and her naked feet
were thrust into down-trodden, felt shoes. Maurice lay still, in order
that she should not suspect his being awake. For a few minutes, there
was silence; then he was forced to sneeze, and at the sound the woman
muttered something, and came to the side of the bed. A curl was
imprisoned between the blades of the tongs, which she continued to hold
aloft, in front of her forehead.

"NA, KLEINER! ... had your sleep out?" she asked in a raucous voice. As
Maurice did not reply, but closed his eyes again, blinded by the
sunshine that poured into the room, she laughed, and made a sound like
that with which one urges on a horse. "Don't feel up to much this
morning ... eh? HERRJE, KLEINER, but you were tight!" and, at some
remembrance of the preceding night, she chuckled to herself. "And now,
I bet you, you feel as if you'd never be able to lift your head again.
Just wait a jiffy! I'll get you something that'll revive you."

She waddled to the door and he heard her call: "JOHANN, EINEN SCHNAPS!"

Feet shuffled in the passage; she handed Maurice a glass of brandy.

"There you are!--that'll pull you together. Swallow it down," she said,
as he hesitated. "You'll feel another man after it.--And now I'll do
what I wouldn't do for every one--make you a coffee to wash down the
nasty physic."

She laughed loudly at her own joke, and laid the curlingtongs aside. He
watched her move about the room in search of spirit-lamp and
coffee-mill. Beneath the drooping black chemise, her loose breasts
swayed.

"Not that I've much time," she went on, as she ground the coffee. "It's
gone a quarter to twelve already, and I like fresh air. I don't miss a
minute of it.--So up you get! Here, dowse your head in this water."

Leaning against the table, Maurice drank the cup of black coffee, and
considered his companion.