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Updated: May 27, 2025
He did not visit it often enough to know that the crowd was larger than usual and strongly leavened with an element of furtive shabby men and desperate calm women. He found his official and disposed of his affair, and the official, who was willing enough to be seen in the company of a man of Rufin's position, rose politely to see him forth, and walked with him into the noisy hall.
"Then there is an artist the artist of whom you talk who is one of the apaches! It is unbelievable!" At the word apaches the girl turned on him with teeth bared as though in a snarl. But at the sound of Rufin's voice she subsided. "What is his name quickly?" he demanded. "Giaconi," she answered. Rufin looked his question at the little official, who turned to the girl.
But Rufin's courteous and fastidious face was above suspicion; without a word she followed him. The office to which he led her was an arid, neat room, an economical legal factory for making molehills into mountains. A desk and certain chairs stood like chill islands about its floor; it had the forlorn atmosphere of a waiting-room.
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