"By way of the Cornice?"
"You will find it a most beautiful road; even in your own America you will find nothing more beautiful. And how fortunate that you will have so fine a day! Where will you rest to-night?"
"At Frejus, probably."
"A beautiful town, well worth a visit. Permit me to recommend you, sirs, that you stop at the Hotel du Midi. The proprietor is a relative of mine—a nephew, in fact; he will treat you well."
"Thank you," responded the stranger, and at that moment Madame Brisson entered, flushed but triumphant, bearing a tray on which was a small pitcher of very black coffee, a large pitcher of very hot milk, a plate of rolls and "crescents," some pats of butter and a jar of honey. She placed the tray upon the table, greeted the travellers with the brightest of smiles, and then, as she flitted about attending to their wants, M. Brisson retired to his bureau to put the finishing touches to the bill.
This was a weighty business. It was not often that the little Hotel du Nord had the privilege of entertaining guests from America, and M. Brisson was thriftily determined to make the most of it. The price of the room, unfortunately, had been agreed upon in advance; but there were the meals and, above all, the extras—baggage, lights, attendance, one special breakfast at five o'clock—one must be paid for rising in the middle of the night!—confitures, bath—had there been a bath? No matter! Wine, cigars—M. Brisson licked his lips as he put them all in. Then he made a mistake of five francs in the addition, and the thing was done. He contemplated it for a moment with satisfaction, then folded it, slipped it into his pocket, and returned to the breakfast-room.
His guests were just rising from the table, and a glance told him that they had done but scant justice to the meal—fully half the rolls remained uneaten! They were in haste, then; so much the better! He assisted them to adjust their knapsacks.
"And now the bill," said one of them, taking out his purse.
M. Brisson presented it with a bow. The other took it, glanced at the total, and his face flushed. He opened his lips to speak, closed them again, and his eyes ran up the column of figures. The flush deepened, and again he opened his lips; but when he met Brisson's ferret-like gaze, he again closed them. Without a word, he extracted from his purse a note for a hundred francs and placed it in Brisson's hand.