CHAPTER XIX.
A DINNER AT THE MAISON DOREE AND AN EVENING PARTY IN THE QUARTIER LATIN.
The most genial of companions was our new acquaintance, Franz Mueller,the art-student. Light-hearted, buoyant, unassuming, he gave his animalspirits full play, and was the life of our little dinner. He had morenatural gayety than generally belongs to the German character, and hisgood-temper was inexhaustible. He enjoyed everything; he made the bestof everything; he saw food for laughter in everything. He was alwaysamused, and therefore was always amusing. Above all, there was aspontaneity in his mirth which acted upon others as a perpetualstimulant. He was in short, what the French call a _bon garcon_, and theEnglish a capital fellow; easy without assurance, comic withoutvulgarity, and, as Sydney Smith wittily hath it--"a great number ofother things without a great number of other things."
Upon Dalrymple, who had been all day silent, abstracted, and unlike hisusual self, this joyous influence acted like a tonic. As entertainer, hewas bound to exert himself, and the exertion did him good. He threw offhis melancholy; and with the help, possibly, of somewhat more than hisusual quantity of wine, entered thoroughly into the passing joyousnessof the hour. What a _recherche_, luxurious extravagant little dinner itwas, that evening at the Maison Doree! We had a charming little roomoverlooking the Boulevard, furnished with as much looking-glass,crimson-velvet, gilding, and arabesque painting as could be got togetherwithin the space of twelve-feet by eight. Our wine came to table in asilver cooler that Cellini might have wrought. Our meats were servedupon porcelain that would have driven Palissy to despair. We had nothingthat was in season, except game, and everything that was out; which,by-the-way, appears to be our modern criterion of excellence withrespect to a dinner. Finally, we were waited upon by the most imposingof waiters--a waiter whose imperturbable gravity was not to be shaken byany amount of provocation, and whose neckcloth alone was sufficient toqualify him for the church.
How merry we were! How Mueller tormented that diplomatic waiter! Whatstories we told! what puns we made! What brilliant things we said, orfancied we said, over our Chambertin and Johannisberger! Mueller knewnothing of the substratum of sadness underlying all that jollity. Helittle thought how heavy Dalrymple's strong heart had been that morning.He had no idea that my friend and I were to part on the morrow, formonths or years, as the case might be--he to carry his unrest hither andthither through distant lands; I to remain alone in a strange city,pursuing a distasteful study, and toiling onward to a future withoutfascination or hope. But, as the glass seals tell us, "such is life." Weare all mysteries to one another. The pleasant fellow whom I invite todinner because he amuses me, carries a scar on his soul which it wouldfrighten me to see; and he in turn, when he praises my claret, littledreams of the carking care that poisons it upon my palate, and robs itof all its aroma. Perhaps the laughter-loving painter himself had hisown little tragedy locked up in some secret corner of the heart thatseemed to beat so lightly under that braided blouse of Palais Royal cutand Quartier Latin fashion! Who could tell? And of what use would it be,if it were told? Smiles carry one through the world more agreeably thantears, and if the skeleton is only kept decently out of sight in its ownunsuspected closet, so much the better for you and me, and societyat large.
Dinner over, and the serious waiter dismissed with the dessert and theempty bottles, we sat by the open window for a long time, sipping ourcoffee, smoking our cigars, and watching the busy life of the Boulevardbelow. There the shops were all alight and the passers-by more numerousthan by day. Carriages were dashing along, full of opera-goers andball-room beauties. On the pavement just under our window were seatedthe usual crowd of Boulevard idlers, sipping their _al fresco_ absinthe,and _grog-au-vin._ In the very next room, divided from us by only aslender partition, was a noisy party of young men and girls. We couldhear their bursts of merriment, the chinking of their glasses as theypledged one another, the popping of the champagne corks, and almost thevery jests that passed from lip to lip. Presently a band came and playedat the corner of an adjoining street. All was mirth, all was life, allwas amusement and dissipation both in-doors and out-of-doors, in the"care-charming" city of Paris on that pleasant September night; and we,of course, were gay and noisy, like our neighbors. Dalrymple and Muellercould scarcely be called new acquaintances. They had met some few timesat the _Chicards_, and also, some years before, in Rome. What storiesthey told of artists whom they had known! What fun they made ofAcademic dons and grave professors high in authority! What pictures theydrew, of life in Rome--in Vienna--in Paris! Though we had no ladies ofour party and were only three in number, I am not sure that themerry-makers in the next room laughed any louder or oftener than we!
At length the clock on the mantelpiece warned us that it was alreadyhalf-past nine, and that we had been three hours at dinner. It wasclearly time to vary the evening's amusement in some way or other, andthe only question was what next to do? Should we go to a billiard-room?Or to the Salle Valentinois? Or to some of the cheap theatres on theBoulevard du Temple? Or to the Tableaux Vivants? Or the Cafe desAveugles? Or take a drive round by the Champs Elysees in an open fly?
At length Mueller remembered that some fellow-students were giving aparty that evening, and offered to introduce us.
"It is up five pairs of stairs, in the Quartier Latin," said he; "butthoroughly jolly--all students and grisettes. They'll be delightedto see us."
This admirable proposition was no sooner made than acted upon; so westarted immediately, and Dalrymple, who seemed to be well acquaintedwith the usages of student-life, proposed that we should take with us astore of sweetmeats for the ladies.
"There subsists," observed he, "a mysterious elective affinity betweenthe grisette and the chocolate bon-bon. He who can skilfully exhibit thelatter, is almost certain to win the heart of the former. Where thechocolate fails, however, the _marron glace_ is an infallible specific.I recommend that we lay in a liberal supply of both weapons."
"Carried by acclamation," said Mueller. "We can buy them on our way, inthe Rue Vivienne. A capital shop; but one that I never patronize--theygive no credit."
Chatting thus, and laughing, we made our way across the Boulevard andthrough a net-work of by-streets into the Rue Vivienne, where we laidsiege to a great bon-bon shop--a gigantic depot for dyspepsia at somuch per kilogramme--and there filled our pockets with sweets of everyimaginable flavor and color. This done, a cab conveyed us in somethingless than ten minutes across the Pont Neuf to the Quartier Latin.
Mueller's friends were three in number, and all students--one of art, oneof law, and one of medicine. They lodged at the top of a dingy housenear the Odeon, and being very great friends and very near neighborswere giving this entertainment conjointly. Their names were Gustave,Jules, and Adrien. Adrien was the artist, and lived in the garret, justover the heads of Gustave and Jules, which made it very convenient for aparty, and placed a _suite_ of rooms at the disposal of their visitors.
Long before we had achieved the five pairs of stairs, we heard the soundof voices and the scraping of a violin, and on the fifth landing werereceived by a pretty young lady in a coquettish little cap, whom Muellerfamiliarly addressed as Annette, and who piloted us into a very smallbed-room which was already full of hats and coats, bonnets, shawls, andumbrellas. Having added our own paletots and beavers to the generalstock, and having each received a little bit of pasteboard in exchangefor the same, we were shown into the ball-room by Mademoiselle Annette,who appeared to fill the position of hostess, usher, and generalsuperintendent.
It was a good-sized room, somewhat low in the ceiling, and brilliantlylighted with lots of tallow candles in bottles. The furniture had allbeen cleared out for the dancers, except a row of benches round thewalls, and a chest of draws in a recess between the windows which servedas a raised platform for the orchestra. The said orchestra consisted ofa violin and accordion, both played by amateurs, with an occasional_obligato_ on the common comb. As for the guests, they were, as Muellerhad already told
us, all students and grisettes--the former wearingevery strange variety of beard and blouse; the latter in prettylight-colored muslins and bewitching little caps, with the exception oftwo who wore flowers in their hair, and belonged to the opera ballet.They were in the midst of a tremendous galop when we arrived; so westood at the door and looked on, and Dalrymple flirted with MademoiselleAnnette. As soon as the galop was over, two of our hosts came forward towelcome us.
"The Duke of Dalrymple and the Marquis of Arbuthnot--Messieurs JulesCharpentier and Gustave Dubois," said Mueller, with the most _degage_ airin the world.
Monsieur Jules, a tall young man with an enormous false nose of theregular carnival pattern, and Monsieur Gustave, who was short and stout,with a visible high-water mark round his throat and wrists, and curiousleather mosaics in his boots, received us very cordially, and did notappear to be in the least surprised at the magnificence of theintroduction. On the contrary, they shook hands with us; apologized forthe absence of Adrien, who was preparing the supper upstairs; andoffered to find us partners for the next valse. Dalrymple immediatelyproposed for the hand of Mademoiselle Annette. Mueller, decliningadventitious aid, wandered among the ladies, making himself universallyagreeable and trusting for a partner to his own unassisted efforts. Formyself, I was indebted to Monsieur Gustave for an introduction to a verycharming young lady whose name was Josephine, and with whom I fell overhead and ears in love without a moment's warning.
She was somewhat under the middle height, slender, supple, rosy-lipped,and coquettish to distraction. Her pretty mouth dimpled round withsmiles at every word it uttered. Her very eyes laughed. Her hair, whichwas more adorned than concealed by a tiny muslin cap that clung by someunseen agency to the back of her head, was of a soft, warm, wavy brown,with a woof of gold threading it here and there. Her voice was perhaps alittle loud; her conversation rather childish; her accent such as wouldscarcely have passed current in the Faubourg St. Germain--but what ofthat? One would be worse than foolish to expect style and cultivation ina grisette; and had I not had enough to disgust me with both in Madamede Marignan? What more charming, after all, than youth, beauty, andlightheartedness? Were Noel and Chapsal of any importance to a mouththat could not speak without such a smile as Hebe might have envied?
I was, at all events, in no mood to take exception to these littledefects. I am not sure that I did not even regard them in the light ofadditional attractions. That which in another I should have called_bete_, I set down to the score of _naivete_ in MademoiselleJosephine. One is not diffident at twenty--by the way, I was nowtwenty-one--especially after dining at the Maison Doree.
Mademoiselle Josephine was frankness itself. Before I had enjoyed thepleasure of her acquaintance for ten minutes, she told me she was anartificial florist; that her _patronne_ lived in the Rue Menilmontant;that she went to her work every morning at nine, and left it everyevening at eight; that she lodged _sous les toits_ at No. 70, RueAubry-le-Boucher; that her relations lived at Juvisy; and that she wentto see them now and then on Sundays, when the weather and her fundspermitted.
"Is the country pretty at Juvisy, Mademoiselle?" I asked, by way ofkeeping up the conversation.
"Oh, M'sieur, it is a real paradise. There are trees and fields, andthere is the Seine close by, and a chateau, and a park, and a church ona hill, ... _ma foi!_ there is nothing in Paris half so pretty; not eventhe Jardin des Plantes!"
"And have you been there lately?"
"Not for eight weeks, at the very least, M'sieur. But then it coststhree francs and a half for the return ticket, and since I quarrelledwith Emile...."
"Emile!" said I, quickly. "Who is he?"
"He is a picture-frame maker, M'sieur, and works for a great dealer inthe Rue du Faubourg Montmartre. He was my sweetheart, and he took me outsomewhere every Sunday, till we quarrelled."
"And what did you quarrel about, Mademoiselle?"
My pretty partner laughed and tossed her head.
"Eh, _mon Dieu_! he was jealous."
"Jealous of whom?"
"Of a gentleman--an artist--who wanted to paint me in one of hispictures. Emile did not like me to go to his _atelier_ so often; and thegentleman gave me a shawl (such a pretty shawl!) and a canary in alovely green and gold cage; and...."
"And Emile objected ?"
"Yes, M'sieur."
"How very unreasonable!"
"That's just what I said, M'sieur."
"And have you never seen him since!"
"Oh, yes--he keeps company now with my cousin Cecile, and she humors himin everything,"
"And the artist--what of him, Mademoiselle?"
"Oh, I sat to him every day, till his picture was finished. _Il etaitbien gentil_. He took me to the theatre several times, and once to afete at Versailles; but that was after Emile and I had broken it off."
"Did you find it tiresome, sitting as a model?"
"_Mais, comme ci, et comme ca_! It was a beautiful dress, and became mewonderfully. To be sure, it was rather cold!"
"May I ask what character you were supposed to represent, Mademoiselle?"
"He said it was Phryne. I have no idea who she was; but I think she musthave found it very uncomfortable if she always wore sandals, and wentwithout stockings."
I looked down at her little foot, and thought how pretty it must havelooked in the Greek sandal. I pictured her to myself in the gracefulGreek robe, with a chalice in her hand and her temples crowned withflowers. What a delicious Phryne! And what a happy fellow Praxitelesmust have been!
"It was a privilege, Mademoiselle, to be allowed to see you in socharming a costume," I said, pressing her hand tenderly. "I envy thatartist from the bottom of my heart."
Mademoiselle Josephine smiled, and returned the pressure.
"One might borrow it," said she, "for the Bal de l'Opera."
"Ah, Mademoiselle, if I dared only aspire to the honor of conductingyou!"
"_Dame_! it is nearly four months to come!"
"True, but in the meantime, Mademoiselle----"
"In the meantime," said the fair Josephine, anticipating my hopes withall the unembarrassed straightforwardness imaginable, "I shall bedelighted to improve M'sieur's acquaintance."
"Mademoiselle, you make me happy!"
"Besides, M'sieur is an Englishman, and I like the English so much!"
"I am delighted to hear it, Mademoiselle. I hope I shall never give youcause to alter your opinion."
"Last galop before supper!" shouted Monsieur Jules through, a brassspeaking-trumpet, in order to make use of which he was obliged to holdup his nose with one hand. "Gentlemen, choose your partners. All couplesto dance till they drop!"
There were a dozen up immediately, amongst whom Dalrymple andMademoiselle Annette, and Mueller with one of the ballet ladies, were thefirst to start. As for Josephine, she proved to be a damsel offorty-galop power. She never wanted to rest, and she never cared toleave off. She did not even look warm when it was over. I wonder to thisday how it was that I did not die on the spot.
When the galop was ended, we all went upstairs to Monsieur Adrien'sgarret, where Monsieur Adrien, who had red hair and wore glasses,received us in person, and made us welcome. Here we found the supperelegantly laid out on two doors which had been taken off their hingesfor the purpose; but which, being supported from beneath on divers boxesand chairs of unequal heights, presented a painfully sloping surface,thereby causing the jellies to look like leaning towers of Pisa, and thespongecake (which was already professedly tipsy) to assume an air sounbecomingly convivial that it might almost have been called drunk.
Nobody thought of sitting down, and, if they did, there were no means ofdoing so; for Monsieur Adrien's garret was none of the largest, and, asin a small villa residence we sometimes see the whole house sacrificedto a winding staircase, so in this instance had the whole room beensacrificed to the splendor of the supper. For the inconvenience ofstanding, we were compensated, however, by the abundance and excellenceof the fare. There were cold chickens, mea
t-pies, dishes of sliced ham,pyramids of little Bologna sausages, huge rolls of bread a yard inlength, lobster salad, and cold punch in abundance.
The flirtations at supper were tremendous. In a bachelor establishmentone cannot expect to find every convenience, and on this occasion theprevailing deficiencies were among the plates and glasses; so those whohad been partners in the dance now became partners in other matters,eating off the same plate and drinking out of the same tumbler; but thisonly made it so much the merrier. By and by somebody volunteered a song,and somebody else made a speech, and then we went down again to theball-room, and dancing recommenced.
The laughter now became louder, and the legs of the guests more vigorousthan ever. The orchestra, too, received an addition to its strength inthe person of a gentleman who, having drunk more cold punch than wasquite consistent with the preservation of his equilibrium, was stillsober enough to oblige us with a spirited accompaniment on the shoveland tongs, which, with the violin and accordion, and the comb _obligato_before mentioned, produced a startling effect, and reminded one ofTurkish marches, Pantomime overtures, and the like barbaric music.
In the midst of the first polka, however, we were interrupted by asuccession of furious double knocks on the floor beneath our feet. Westopped by involuntary consent--dancers, musicians, and all.
"It's our neighbor on the story below," said Monsieur Jules. "He objectsto the dancing."
"Then we'll dance a little heavier, to teach him better taste," said astudent, who had so little hair on his head and so much on his chin,that he looked as if his face had been turned upside down. "What is thename of the ridiculous monster?"
"Monsieur Bobinet."
"Ladies and gentlemen, let us dance for the edification of MonsieurBobinet! Orchestra, strike up, in honor of Monsieur Bobinet! One, two,three, and away!"
Hereupon we uttered a general hurrah, and dashed off again, like a herdof young elephants. The knocking ceased, and we thought that MonsieurBobinet had resigned himself to his fate, when, just as the polka endedand the dancers were promenading noisily round and round the room, thebombardment began afresh; and this time against the very door of theball-room.
"_Par exemple_!" cries Monsieur Jules. "The enemy dares to attack us inour own lines!"
"Bolt the door, and let him knock till he's tired," suggested one.
"Open it suddenly, and deluge him with water!" cried another.
"Tar and feather him!" proposed a third.
In the meantime, Monsieur Bobinet, happily ignorant of these agreeableschemes for his reception, continued to thunder away upon the outerpanels, accompanying the raps with occasional loud coughs, and hems, andstampings of the feet.
"Hush! do nothing violent," cried Mueller, scenting a practical joke."Let us invite him in, and make fun of him. It will be ever so muchmore amusing!"
And with this he drove the rest somewhat back and threw open the door,upon the outer threshold of which, with a stick in one hand and abedroom candle in the other, and a flowered dressing-gown tied round hisample waist by a cord and tassels, stood Monsieur Bobinet.
Mueller received him with a profound bow, and said:--
"Monsieur Bobinet, I believe?"
Monsieur Bobinet, who was very bald, very cross, and very stout, castan irritable glance into the room, but, seeing so many people, drew backand said:--
"Yes, that is my name, Monsieur. I lodge on the fourth floor...."
"But pray walk in, Monsieur Bobinet," said Mueller, opening the doorstill wider and bowing still more profoundly.
"Monsieur," returned the fourth-floor lodger, "I--I only come tocomplain...."
"Whatever the occasion of this honor, Monsieur," pursued the student,with increasing politeness, "we cannot suffer you to remain on thelanding. Pray do us the favor to walk in."
"Oh, walk in--pray walk in, Monsieur Bobinet," echoed Jules, Gustave,and Adrien, all together.
The fourth-floor lodger hesitated; took a step forward; thought,perhaps, that, since we were all so polite, he would do his best toconciliate us; and, glancing down nervously at his dressing-gown andslippers, said:--
"Really, gentlemen, I should have much pleasure, but I am notprepared...."
"Don't mention it, Monsieur Bobinet," said Mueller. "We are delighted toreceive you. Allow me to disembarrass you of your candle."
"And permit me," said Jules, "to relieve you of your stick."
"Pray, Monsieur Bobinet, do you never dance the polka?" asked Gustave.
"Bring Monsieur Bobinet a glass of cold punch," said Adrien.
"And a plate of lobster salad," added the bearded student.
Monsieur Bobinet, finding the door already closed behind him, lookedround nervously; but encountering only polite and smiling faces,endeavored to seem at his ease, and to put a good face upon the matter.
"Indeed, gentlemen, I must beg you to excuse me," said he. "I neverdrink at night, and I never eat suppers. I only came to request...."
"Nay, Monsieur Bobinet, we cannot suffer you to leave us without takinga glass of cold punch," pursued Mueller.
"Upon my word," began the lodger, "I dare not...."
"A glass of white wine, then?"
"Or a cup of coffee?"
"Or some home-made lemonade?"
Monsieur Bobinet cast a look of helpless longing towards the door.
"If you really insist, gentlemen," said he, "I will take a cup ofcoffee; but indeed...."
"A cup of coffee for Monsieur Bobinet!" shouted Mueller.
"A large cup of coffee for Monsieur Bobinet!" repeated Jules.
"A strong cup of coffee for Monsieur Bobinet!" cried Gustave, followingup the lead of the other two.
The fourth-floor lodger frowned and colored up, beginning to besuspicious of mischief. Seeing this, Mueller hastened to apologize.
"You must pardon us, Monsieur Bobinet," he said with the most winningamiability, "if we are all in unusually high spirits to-night. You arenot aware, perhaps, that our friend Monsieur Jules Charpentier wasmarried this morning, and that we are here in celebration of that happyevent. Allow me to introduce you to the bride."
And turning to one of the ballet ladies, he led her forward withexceeding gravity, and presented her to Monsieur Bobinet as MadameCharpentier.
The fourth-floor lodger bowed, and went through the usualcongratulations. In the meantime, some of the others had prepared a mocksofa by means of two chairs set somewhat wide apart, with a shawl thrownover the whole to conceal the space between. Upon one of these chairssat a certain young lady named Louise, and upon the other Mam'selleJosephine. As soon as it was ready, Muller, who had been only waitingfor it, affected to observe for the first time that Monsieur Bobinet wasstill standing.
"_Mon Dieu_!" he exclaimed, "has no one offered our visitor a chair?Monsieur Bobinet, I beg a thousand pardons. Pray do us the favor to beseated. Your coffee will be here immediately, and these ladies on thesofa will be delighted to make room for you."
"Oh yes, pray be seated, Monsieur Bobinet," cried the two girls. "Weshall be charmed to make room for Monsieur Bobinet!"
More than ever confused and uncomfortable, poor Monsieur Bobinet bowed;sat down upon the treacherous space between the two chairs; went throughimmediately; and presented the soles of his slippers to the company inthe least picturesque manner imaginable. This involuntary performancewas greeted with a shout of wild delight.
"Bravo, Monsieur Bobinet!"
"_Vive_ Monsieur Bobinet!"
"Three cheers for Monsieur Bobinet!"
Scarlet with rage, the fourth-floor lodger sprang to his feet and made arush to the door; but he was hemmed in immediately. In vain he stormed;in vain he swore. We joined hands; we called for music; we danced roundhim; we sang; and at last, having fairly bumped and thumped and hustledhim till we were tired, pushed him out on the landing, and left himto his fate.
After this interlude, the mirth grew fast and furious. _Valse_ succeeded_valse_, and galop followed galop, till the orchestra decl
ared theycould play no longer, and the gentleman with the shovel and tongscollapsed in a corner of the room and went to sleep with his head in thecoal-scuttle. Then the ballet-ladies were prevailed upon to favor uswith a _pas de deux_; after which Mueller sang a comic song with achorus, in which everybody joined; and then the orchestra was bribedwith hot brandy-and-water, and dancing commenced again. By this time thevisitors began to drop away in twos and threes, and even the fairJosephine, to whom I had never ceased paying the most devoted attention,declared she could not stir another step. As for Dalrymple, he haddisappeared during supper, without a word of leave-taking to any one.
Matters being at this pass, I looked at my watch, and found that it wasalready half-past six o'clock; so, having bade good-night, or rathergood-morning, to Messieurs Jules, Gustave, and Adrien, and having, withgreat difficulty, discovered my own coat and hat among the miscellaneouscollection in the adjoining bed-room, I prepared to escort MademoiselleJosephine to her home.
"Going already?" said Mueller, encountering us on the landing, with aroll in one hand and a Bologna sausage in the other.
"Already! Why, my dear fellow, it is nearly seven o'clock!"
"_Qu'importe_? Come up to the supper-room and have some breakfast!"
"Not for the world!"
"Well, _chacun a son gout_. I am as hungry as a hunter."
"Can I not take you any part of your way?"
"No, thank you. I am a Quartier Latinist, _pur sang_, and lodge only astreet or two off. Stay, here is my address. Come and see me--you can'tthink how glad I shall be!"
"Indeed, I will come---and here is my card in exchange. Good-night, HerrMueller."
"Good-night, Marquis of Arbuthnot. Mademoiselle Josephine, _auplaisir_."
So we shook hands and parted, and I saw my innamorata home to herresidence at No. 70, Rue Aubry le Boucher, which opened upon the Marchedes Innocents. She fell asleep upon my shoulder in the cab, and was onlyjust sufficiently awake when I left her, to accept all the _marronsglaces_ that yet remained in the pockets of my paletot, and to remind methat I had promised to take her out next Sunday for a drive in thecountry, and a dinner at the Moulin Rouge.
The fountain in the middle of the Marche was now sparkling in thesunshine like a shower of diamonds, and the business of the market wasalready at its height. The shops in the neighboring streets were openingfast. The "iron tongue" of St. Eustache was calling the devout to earlyprayer. Fagged as I was, I felt that a walk through the fresh air woulddo me good; so I dismissed the cab, and reached my lodgings just as thesleepy _concierge_ had turned out to sweep the hall, and open theestablishment for the day. When I came down again two hours later,after a nap and a bath, I found a _commissionnaire_ waiting for me.
"_Tiens_!" said Madame Bouisse (Madame Bouisse was the wife of the_concierge_). "_V'la_! here is M'sieur Arbuthnot."
The man touched his cap, and handed me a letter.
"I was told to deliver it into no hands but those of M'sieur himself,"said he.
The address was in Dalrymple's writing. I tore the envelope open. Itcontained only a card, on the back of which, scrawled hastily in pencil,were the following words:
"To have said good-bye would have made our parting none the lighter. Bythe time you decipher this hieroglyphic I shall be some miles on my way:Address Hotel de Russie, Berlin. Adieu, Damon; God bless you. O.D."
"How long is it since this letter was given to you?" said I, withouttaking my eyes from the card.
The _commissionnaire_ made no reply. I repeated the question, looked upimpatiently, and found that the man was already gone.
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