“A thousand thanks, my very good friend.”
I heard a smothered laugh beyond the amber curtains.
Presently she spoke again, yawning, as I fancied,
rather contentedly.
“A la bonne heure, Monsieur!”
“A la bonne heure, Madame!”
DEJEUNER A LA FOURCHETTE
Woman is a creature between man
and the angels.
—Honore
de Balzac.
A government agent, it seems, may also in part be
little more than a man, after all. In these singular
surroundings I found myself not wholly tranquil....
At last toward morning, I must have slept. It
was some time after daybreak when I felt a hand upon
my shoulder as I lay still partly clad. Awakened
suddenly, I arose and almost overthrew old Threlka,
who stood regarding me with no expression whatever
upon her brown and wrinkled countenance. She
did no more than point the way to a door, where presently
I found a bath-room, and so refreshed myself and made
the best toilet possible under the circumstances.
My hostess I found awaiting me in the central room
of the apartments. She was clad now in a girdled
peignoir of rich rose-color, the sleeves, wide and
full, falling hack from her round arms. Her dark
hair was coiled and piled high on her head this morning,
regardless of current mode, and confined in a heavy
twist by a tall golden comb; so that her white neck
was left uncovered. She wore no jewelry, and as
she stood, simple and free from any trickery of the
coquette, I thought that few women ever were more
fair. That infinite witchery not given to many
women was hers, yet dignity as well. She was,
I swear, grande dame, though young and beautiful
as a goddess. Her brow was thoughtful now, her
air more demure. Faint blue shadows lay beneath
her eyes. A certain hauteur, it seemed to me,
was visible in her mien, yet she was the soul of graciousness,
and, I must admit, as charming a hostess as ever invited
one to usual or unusual repast.
The little table in the center of the room was already
spread. Madam filled my cup from the steaming
urn with not the slightest awkwardness, as she nodded
for me to be seated. We looked at each other,
and, as I may swear, we both broke into saving laughter.
So we sat, easier now, as I admit, and, with small
concern for the affairs of the world outside at the
time, discussed the very excellent omelet, which certainly
did not allow the reputation of Threlka to suffer;
the delicately grilled bones, the crisp toasted rye
bread, the firm yellow butter, the pungent early cress,
which made up a meal sufficiently dainty even for
her who presided over it.
Even that pitiless light of early morning, the merciless
cross-light of opposing windows, was gentle with her.
Yes, she was young! Moreover, she ate as a person
of breeding, and seemed thoroughbred in all ways, if
one might use a term so hackneyed. Rank and breeding
had been hers; she needed not to claim them, for they
told their own story. I wondered what extraordinary
history of hers remained untold—what history
of hers and mine and of others she might yet assist
in making!
