CHAPTER VI
With the laugh the personal moment passed. Henceforward it was thetechnique of the pictures, the individualism of the artists that claimedthe boy's attention, and in this new field he proved himself yet anotherbeing--a creature of quick perception and curiously mature judgment,appreciative and observant, critical and generous.
In warm and interested discussion they made the tour of the rooms, andwhen they emerged again into the frosty morning air and were greeted bythe dazzle of the sun, each was conscious of a deeper understanding. Anew expression of interest and something of respect was visible in theIrishman's face as he looked down on the puzzling, elusive being whom hehad picked up from the skirts of chance as he might have filched a jewelor a coin.
"Look here, boy!" he said, "we mustn't say good-bye just yet. Comeacross the river, and let's find some little place where we can get aseat and a cup of coffee."
The boy's only answer was to turn obediently, as the other slipped hishand through his arm, and to allow himself to be guided back across theCours la Reine and over the Pont Alexandre III.
The bridge looked almost as impressive as the Place de la Concorde underits white garment, and his glance ranged from the high columns, toppedby the winged horses, to the thronging bronze lamps, while the sense ofbreath and freedom fitted with his secret thoughts.
Leaving the river behind them, they made their way onward across theEsplanade des Invalides, through the serried lines of trees, stark andformal against the January sky, to the rue Fabert. Here, in the rueFabert, lay that note of contrast that is bound into the very atmosphereof Paris--the note that touches the imagination to so acute an interest.Here shabby, broken-down shops rubbed shoulders with fine old entries,entries that savored of other times in the hint of roomy court-yard andgreen garden to be caught behind their gateways; here were creameriesthat conjured the country to the eager senses, and laundries thatexhaled a very aroma of work in the hot steam that poured through theirwindows and in the babble of voices that arose from the women who stoodside by side, iron in hand, bending over the long, spotless tables piledwith linen.
It was a touch of Parisian life, small in itself, but subtle andsuggestive as the premonition of spring awakened by the twittering ofthe sparrows in the tall, leafless trees, and the throbbing song of acaged canary that floated down from a window above a shop. It wassuggestive of that Parisian life that is as restless as the sea, asuncontrollable, as possessed of hidden currents.
Involuntarily the boy paused and glanced up at the bird in its cage--thebird that, regardless of the garden of greenstuffs pushed through itsbars, was pouring forth its heart to the pale sun in a frenzy ofworship.
"How strange that is!" he said. "If I were a bird and saw the great sky,knowing myself imprisoned, I should beat my life out against my cage."
The Irishman looked down upon him. "I wonder!" he said, slowly.
The quick, gray eyes flashed up to his. "You doubt it?"
"I don't know! 'On my soul, I don't know!"
"Would you not beat your life out against a cage?"
"I wonder that too! I'd like to think I would, but--"
"You imagine you would hesitate? You think you would shrink?"
"I don't know! Human nature is so damnably patient. Come along! here'sthe place we're looking for." He drew the boy across the road to thedoorway of a little _cafe_, over the door of which hung the somewhatpretentious sign Maison Gustav.
The Maison Gustav was scarcely a more appetizing place than the HotelRailleux. One-half of its interior was partitioned off and filled withlong tables, at which, earlier in the day, workmen were served with_dejeuner_, while the other and smaller portion, reserved for morefastidious guests, was fitted with a counter, ranged with fruit andcakes, and with half a dozen round marble-topped tables, provided withchairs.
This more refined portion of the _cafe_ was empty of customers as thetwo entered. With the ease and decision of an _habitue_, the Irishmanchose the table nearest to the counter, and presently a woman appearedfrom some inner region, and, approaching her customers, eyed them withthat mixture of shrewd observation and polite welcome that belongs tothe Frenchwoman who follows the ways of commerce.
"Good-day, messieurs!" She inclined her head to one side like a plumpand speculative bird, and her hands began mechanically to smooth herblack alpaca apron.
"Good-day, madame!" The Irishman rose and took off his hat with aflourish that was essentially flattering.
The bright little eyes of the _Parisienne_ sparkled, and her round facerelaxed into the inevitable smile.
'What could she have the pleasure of offering monsieur? It was late, butshe had an excellent _ragout_, now a little cold, perhaps, but capablein an instant--'
The stranger put up his hand. "Madame, we could not think of giving youthe trouble--"
"Monsieur, a pleasure--"
"No, madame, it is past the hour of _dejeuner_. All we need is yourcharming hospitality and two cups of coffee."
'Coffee! But certainly! While monsieur was saying the word it would bemade and served.'
Madame hurried off, and in silence the Irishman took out hiscigarette-case and offered it to the boy. Bare and even cold as the_cafe_ was, there was a certain sense of shelter in the closed glassdoor, in the blue film of cigarette smoke that presently began to mountupward toward the ceiling, and in the pleasant smell of coffee borne tothem from unseen regions mingling with the shrill, cheerful tones oftheir hostess's voice.
"A wonderful place, Paris, when all's said and done!" murmured theIrishman, drawing in a long, luxurious breath of smoke. "How an Englishrestaurant-keeper would stare you out of countenance if you demanded amodest cup of coffee when he had luncheon for you to eat! But here,bless you, they acknowledge the rights of man. If you want coffee,coffee you must have--and that with the best grace in the world, lestyour self-esteem be hurt! They're like my people at home: considerationfor the individual is the first thing. It means nothing, a Saxon willtell you, and probably he's quite right; but I'd sooner have apleasant-spoken sinner any day than a disagreeable saint. Ah, here comesmadame!" The last words he added in French, and the boy watched him inamused wonder as he jumped to his feet and, meeting their hostess at thekitchen door, insisted upon taking the tray from her hands.
Laughing, excited, and flattered, the little woman followed him to thetable.
'It was really too much! Monsieur was too kind!'
'On the contrary! It was not meant that woman should wait upon man!Madame had accomplished her share in making this most excellent coffee!'
He sniffed at the steaming pot with the air of a connoisseur.
Madame laughed again, this time self-consciously. 'Well, her coffee hadbeen spoken of before now! Monsieur, her husband, who was quite a_gourmet_--'
'Always declared there was no such coffee in all Paris! Was not thatso?'
Madame's laugh was now a gurgle of delight. 'How clever of monsieur!Yes, it was what he said.'
'Of course it was! And now, how was this good husband? And how was lifetreating them both?' He put the questions with deep solicitude as hepoured out the coffee, and madame, standing by the table and smoothingher apron, grew serious, and before she was aware was pouring forth thegrievance that at the moment was darkening her existence--thedisappointment that had befallen the Maison Gustav when herfather-in-law, a market gardener near Issy, who had a nice little sum ofmoney laid by, had married again at the age of sixty-four.
'Could monsieur conceive anything more grotesque? An old man ofsixty-four marrying a young woman of twenty! Of course there would be achild!' Her shoulders went up, her hands went out in expressive gesture.'And her little Leon would be cheated of his grandfather's money by thiscreature who--'
At this juncture the sound of a kettle boiling over brought the story toan abrupt end, and madame flew off, leaving her guests to a notunwelcome solitude.
As her black skirt whisked round the corner of the door the boy lookedat his companion.
The other laughed. "I've never set foot in the place before. It's a waywe Irish have of putting our fingers into other people's pies! Some callit intrusion"--he glanced quizzically at the boy--"but these goodcreatures understand it. They're more human than the Saxon or the--"Again a glint of humor crossed his face, as he paused on his unfinishedsentence.
The boy reddened and impulsively leaned across the table.
"You have taught me something, monsieur," he said, shyly, "and I havemuch to learn."
The other returned the glance seriously, intently. "What is it I havetaught you?"
"That in the smaller ways of life it is not possible to stand quitealone."
The Irishman laid down his cigarette. With native quickness ofcomprehension, the spirit of banter dropped from him, his mood mergedinto the boy's mood.
"No," he said, "we are not meant to stand quite alone, and when two ofus are flung up against each other as we have been flung, by a wave ofcircumstance, you may take it that the gods control the currents. In ourcase I would say, 'Let's bow to the inevitable! Let's be friends!'" Heput out his hand and took the boy's strong, slim fingers in his grasp.
"I don't want your secret," he added, with a quickening interest, "but Iwant to know one thing. Tell me what you are seeking here in Paris? Isit pleasure, or money, or what?"
He watched the boy's mobile face as he put his question: he saw it sweptby emotion, transfigured as if by some inner light; then the hand in histrembled a little, and the gray eyes with their flecks of gold werelifted to his own, giving insight into the hidden soul.
"I want more than pleasure, monsieur--more than money," he said. "I wantfirst life--and then fame."
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