CHAPTER III
It was eleven o'clock when the boy woke. All the excitement of the pastdays had culminated in the great exhaustion of the night before.
He had slept as a child might sleep--dreamlessly, happily, unthinkingly.In that silent hour Nature had drawn him into her wide embrace, lullinghim with a mother's gentleness; and now, in the moment of waking, itseemed that again the same beneficent agency was dispensing love andfavor, for he opened his eyes upon a changed world. A magician's wandhad been waved over the city during his hours of sleep; the mist andoppression of the night had disappeared with the darkness. Paris wasunder the dominion of the frost.
Instinctively, even before his eyelids lifted, the northern soul withinhim apprised him of this change. He inhaled the crisp coldness of theair with a vague familiarity; he opened his eyes slowly and stared aboutthe unknown room in an instant of hesitating doubt; then, with a greatleap of the spirit, he recognized his position. Last night--the days andnights that had preceded it--flooded his consciousness, and in a momenthe was out of bed and pulling back the drab-hued curtains that hid thewindow.
Having freed the daylight, he leaned out, peering greedily down into thewell-like court, where even the stunted trees in their painted tubs werecoated white with rime; then, with another impulse, as quicklyconceived, as quickly executed, he drew back into the room, fired withthe desire to be out and about in this newly created world.
By day, the details of the room stood out with a prominence that hadbeen denied them in the dim candle-light of the night before, and herealized now, what had escaped him then, that there was neitherdressing-table, wardrobe, nor chest of drawers, that the entire space ofthe small apartment was filled by the clumsy bed, a folding wash-stand,and two ponderous arm-chairs covered in shabby red velvet. These, with adingy gold-framed mirror hanging above the tiny corner fireplace, and agilt clock under a glass shade, formed the comforts purchasable forthree francs.
He studied it all solemnly and attentively, not omitting the graywall-paper of melancholy design, and content that he had acquittedhimself dutifully toward his surroundings, he unpacked his valise, andproceeded to dress for the day's happenings.
The contents of the valise were not imposing--a change of linen, a softfelt hat, a pair of shoes, and a well-worn blue serge suit. The boylooked at each article as he drew it forth with a quaint attentivenessquite disproportionate to either its appearance or its value. But theprocess seemed to please him, and he lingered over it, ceasing almostreluctantly to appraise his belongings, and beginning to dress.
This morning he discarded the high Russian boots and the fur cap ofyesterday, and arrayed himself instead, and with much precision, in theserge suit. Worn as this suit was, it evidently retained a pristinevalue in its owner's eyes, for no sooner had he fastened the last buttonof the coat than he looked instinctively for the mirror in which tostudy the effect.
The mirror unfortunately was high and, crane his neck as he might, hecould see nothing beyond the waves of his short, dark hair and hiseager, questioning eyes. But the effect must be observed, and, with ananxiety in seeming contrast to his nature, he pulled one of the massivevelvet chairs to the fireplace and, mounting upon it, surveyed himselfat every angle with deep intentness. At last, satisfied, he jumped tothe ground, and taking the brown-paper packet from the hiding-placewhere it had reposed all night, bestowed it again in the pocket of hisovercoat and, picking up the felt hat, left the room.
The corridor, despite the advent of the day, was still dark, save wherean occasional door stood ajar and a shaft of sun from the outer worldshot across the drab carpet; but Jean had been over the floor with hisbroom while the hotel slept, and the battered tray with its suggestionof sordid festivity had been removed. Even here the electric air of themorning had made entry, and, yielding to its seduction, the boy gaverein to his eagerness as he hurried forward to the head of the stairsand laid his hand upon the meagre banister.
From the hall below the white light of the day ascended with subtleinvitation, while outside the world hummed with possibilities. He beganthe descent, light as a Mercury, his feet scarcely touching the stepsthat last night had offered so toilsome a progress, and on the thirdfloor he encountered Jean, bearing another tray laden with plates andcovered dishes.
At sight of the young face, the good creature's smile broke forthirresistibly.
'Ah, but monsieur had slept!' The little eyes ran over the face andfigure of the guest with visible pleasure.
The boy laughed--the full, light-hearted laugh that belongs to thebeginning of things.
"Yes, I have slept; and now, you may believe, I have an appetite!"
Jean echoed the laugh with a spontaneity that held no disrespect. Helingered, drawn, as the Irishman in the train had been drawn, bysomething original, something vital, in the youthful personality.
'His faith! But monsieur had the spirit as well as the appetite!'
"Ah, the spirit!" For a fleeting second the boy's eyes looked awaybeyond Jean--untidy, attentive, comprehending--beyond the neutral-tintedwalls and the shabby carpet of the Hotel Railleux, seeing in vision thethings that were to come. Then, with his swift impulsiveness, he flunghis dream from him. What mattered the future? What mattered the past? Hewas here in the present--in the moment; and the moment, great or small,demanded living.
"Never mind the spirit, Jean! Let us consider the flesh! Where is the_salle-a-manger_?"
'The _salle-a-manger_ was on the second floor.'
'The second floor? But of course! Had not Jean mentioned that fact lastnight?' With a nod and a smile, he was away down the intervening stepsand at the door of the eating-room before Jean could balance his trayfor his renewed ascent.
The room that the boy entered was in keeping with the rest of thehouse--old-fashioned and in ill-repair. The floor was devoid ofcovering, the ceiling low, the only furniture a dozen small tablesmeagrely set out for _dejeuner_. On the moment of his entry eleven ofthese tables were unoccupied, but at the twelfth an eager young waiterattended upon a stout provincial Frenchwoman who was partaking heartilyof a pungently smelling stew.
On the opening of the door the waiter glanced round in strainedanticipation, and the lady of the stew looked up and bowed a greeting tothe new-comer.
It struck the boy as curious--this welcome from a total stranger, butit woke anew the pleasant warmth, the agreeable sense of friendliness.With the tingling sensation of doing a daring deed, he glanced round theempty room, scanned the two long windows on which the cold, bright sunplayed laughingly, and through which the rattle and hum of the rue deDunkerque penetrated like an exhilarating accompaniment, then, he walkedstraight to the table of the lady, smiled and, in his own turn, bowed.
'Would madame permit him to sit at her table? It was sad to be aloneupon so fine a morning.'
A woman of any other nationality might have looked at him askance; butmadame was French. She was fifty years of age, she was fat, she wasugly--but she was French. The sense of a pleasant encounter--theappreciation of romance was in her blood. She smiled at the debonair boywith as agreeable a self-consciousness as though she had been a younggirl.
'But certainly, if monsieur desired. The pleasure was for her.'
Again an interchange of bows and smiles, sympathetically repeated by theinterested young waiter. Then the boy, laying his hat and coat aside,seated himself at the table and entered upon the business of the hour,while madame became tactfully absorbed in her odoriferous stew.
'What did monsieur desire?' The waiter stood anxiously attentive, hishead inclining gravely to one side, his dirty napkin swinging from hisleft hand.
The boy glanced up.
'What could the Hotel Railleux offer?'
The waiter met his eye steadfastly. 'Anything that monsieur cared toorder.'
The boy encountered the steadfast look, and a little gleam of humor shotinto his eyes.
'Well, then, to begin with, should they say _Sole Waleska_?'
The waiter's glance wav
ered, he threw the weight of his body from onefoot to the other. Involuntarily madame looked up.
The boy buried himself behind an expression of profound seriousness.
"Yes! _Sole Waleska_! Or, perhaps, _Coulibiac a la Russe!"_
The waiter's mouth opened in a desperate resolve to meet the worst.Madame's eyes discreetly sought her plate.
The boy threw back his head and laughed aloud at his own small jest."Bring me two eggs _en cocotte_," he substituted, and laughed again insheer pleasure at the waiter's sudden smile, his sudden restoration todignity, as he hurried away to put a seal upon an order that permittedthe hotel to retain its self-respect.
Again madame looked up. 'Monsieur was fond of his little pleasantry!This waiter was a good boy, but slow. They did not keep a sufficiency ofservants at the Hotel Railleux. But doubtless monsieur had noticedthat?'
The boy met her inquisitive glance with disarming frankness, but hiswords when he answered gave little information.
'No. He had not as yet had time to notice anything.'
'But of course! Monsieur was a new arrival? He had come--when was it--?'Madame appeared to search her memory.
'Yesterday.'
'But of course. Yesterday! And what a day it had been! What weather fora long journey! It had been a long journey, had it not?'
The boy looked vague. 'Oh, it had been of a sufficient length!'
Madame toyed with the remnants of her stew. 'It had, perhaps, been ajourney from England? Monsieur was not French, although he had socharming a fluency in the language?' Her eyes, her whole provincial,inquisitive face begged for information, but the boy was firm.
'We are each of the country God has given us!' he informed her. Then headded with convincing certainty that madame was without doubt_Parisienne_.
Madame bridled at the soothing little falsehood.
'Alas! nothing so interesting. She was of the provinces.'
'Provincial! Impossible!'
At once the ice was broken; at once they were on the footing of friends,and madame's soul poured forth its secret vanities.
'Monsieur was too kind. No, she was provincial--though, of a truth,Paris was so well known to her that she might almost claim to be_Parisienne_.'
The boy's interest was undiminished. 'Might he venture to ask if it waspleasure alone that had brought madame to the capital--or hadbusiness--?' He left the sentence discreetly unfinished.
Madame pushed her empty plate away and took a toothpick from the table.
'How observant was monsieur!' She eyed the bright young face withgrowing approval. 'Yes, business, alas, was the pivot of her visit! Thisterrible business--exacting so much, giving so little in return!' Sheheaved a weighty sigh, then her fat face melted into smiles. 'But afterall, what would you?' She shrugged her ample shoulders, and thetoothpick came into full play.
'What would you, indeed?' The boy began to feel a little disconcertedunder her glance of slow approval, and a swift sense of relief passedthrough him as the door opened and the waiter reappeared, carrying thetwo eggs.
'What would you, indeed? One must live!' Madame, disregarding thewaiter, continued to study the boyish face--the curious dark-gray eyes,in which the morning sun was discovering little flecks of gold. 'Andevery year conditions were becoming harder, as monsieur doubtless knew.'
Monsieur nodded his head sagely, and began to eat his eggs with keenzest.
Madame looked slowly round at the waiter and ordered coffee, then herglance returned to the boy.
'How good, how refreshing it was to see him eat! How easy to comprehendthat he was young!' She sighed again, this time more softly. 'Youth wasa marvellous thing--and Paris was the city of the young! Was monsieurmaking a long stay at the Hotel Railleux?'
The waiter again appeared and placed the coffee upon the table.Monsieur, suddenly and unaccountably uneasy, finished his eggs hastilyand pushed his plate aside.
'Did monsieur desire coffee?' Madame leaned forward. 'If so, it would bebut the matter of a moment to procure a second cup; and, as hercoffee-pot was quite full--' She raised the lid coquettishly, and againher eyes lingered upon the short dark hair and the straight brows abovethe gray eyes.
The waiter with ready tact departed in search of the second cup; madamereplaced the lid of the coffee-pot.
'Now that they were alone, would it be an unpardonable liberty to askhow old monsieur really was?'
Monsieur blushed.
'How old would madame suppose?'
Madame laughed. 'Oh, it was difficult to say! One might imagine fromthose bright eyes that monsieur had nineteen years; but, again, it wasimpossible to suppose that a razor had ever touched that soft cheek.'There was another little laugh, lower this time and more subtle in tone;and madame, with a movement wonderfully swift considering her years andher proportions, leaned across the table and touched the boy's face.
The effect was instant. A tide of color rushed into his cheeks, he rosewith an alacrity that was comic.
'He--he was much older than madame supposed!'
Madame laughed delightedly. 'How charming! How ingenuous! He positivelymust sit down again. It was assured that they would become friends!Where was that waiter? Where was that second coffee-cup?'
But monsieur remained standing.
Madame's eyes, now alive with interest, literally danced to herthoughts.
'Come! Come! They must not allow the coffee to become cold!'
But monsieur picked up his hat and coat.
'What! He was not going? Oh, it was impossible! He could not be sounkind!' Her face expressed dismay.
But her only answer was a stiff little bow, and a second later the doorhad closed and the boy was running down the stairs of the hotel asthough some enemy were in hot pursuit.
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