Maurice's window looked out upon the hotel garden; gradually, as the tension on his nerves grew less, he caught himself counting and remarking curiously the very few who from time to time passed up and down the snow-shrouded paths and alleys. A woman-servant, apparently looking for some kind of herb; two waiters, who walked rapidly up and down as if enjoying the keen air and glittering sunshine; the landlady, in morning undress, crossing to the dépendance in the grounds, and returning with some utensil which had been left there accidentally; finally—and this it was that riveted Maurice's attention—a traveller, probably a new arrival, for the landlord had given Maurice a detailed account of all those who were in his house at the time, especially giving him to understand that no English visitors remained. And this young man was certainly from England. What other country could have produced the faultless exterior with regard to form, the fair freshness of face, the well-bred nonchalance of manner?
The young man held a cigar lightly in the tips of his fingers, his lively whistle penetrated to Maurice's retreat, he walked up and down on the crystallized snow with a resolute, energetic step; there was, to the eyes of the jaded man of the world, something peculiarly pleasant and attractive about his general appearance.
"I wonder who he is?" said Maurice to himself. "It would be rather pleasant to meet anything so fresh; he has a good face, too. That young fellow is no scamp."
Inconsistency of human nature, or rather, perhaps, adaptability to circumstances. Maurice a few moments before had been condemning his generation indiscriminately, calling men and women by the harshest names in the vocabulary, longing passionately to escape from them for ever. Appears upon the scene a young man with a fair, fresh face, and he endows him immediately with the qualities in which all his kind had been pronounced deficient! Strange, but true, for such is life, so complex a thing, driven hither and thither by trifles light as air.
Maurice Grey turned away from the window, looked with a half smile, half tremor at the loaded pistol, put it in a safe place lest Karl should see fit to meddle with it, and proceeded to dress himself carefully for the early table-d'hôte dinner.
And thus, though he himself was all unconscious of the fact, the work of Margaret's messenger was begun.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
A TÊTE-À-TÊTE DINNER AT THE HOTEL.
For how false is the fairest breast!
How little worth, if true!
And who would wish possessed
What all must scorn or rue?
Then pass by beauty with looks above:
Oh seek never—share never—woman's love.