“It’s not a bad house,” said Moncharmin, “for ‘a house with a curse on it.’ ”

M. Richard smiled and pointed to a fat, rather vulgar woman, dressed in black, sitting in a stall in the middle of the auditorium with a man in a broadcloth frock-coat on either side of her.

“Who on earth are ‘those?’ ” asked Moncharmin.

“ ‘Those,’ my dear fellow, are my concierge, her husband and her brother.”

“Did you give them their tickets?”

“I did.⁠ ⁠… My concierge had never been to the Opera⁠—this is the first time⁠—and, as she is now going to come every night, I wanted her to have a good seat, before spending her time showing other people to theirs.”