‘“Be a courier!” said thirty voices in a cheer. “Vive la Grande Route!” and with the word each man drained his glass to the bottom.
‘“Vive la Grande Route!” exclaimed I, louder than the rest; “and here I join you.”
‘From that hour I entered on a career that each day I follow is becoming dearer to me. It is true that I sit in the rumble of the carriage, while monseigneur, or my lord, reclines within; but would I exchange his ennui and depression for my own light-heartedness and jollity? Would I give up the happy independence of all the intrigue and plotting of the world I enjoy, for all his rank and station? Does not Mont Blanc look as grand in his hoary panoply to me as to him; are not the Danube and the Rhine as fair? If I wander through the gallery of Dresden, have I not the sweet smile of the great Raphael’s Madonna bent on me, as blandly as it is on him? Is not mine host, with less of ceremony, far more cordial to me than to him? Is not mine a rank known and acknowledged in every town, in every village? Have I not a greeting wherever I pass? Should sickness overtake me, where have I not a home? Where am I among strangers? Then, what care I for the bill—mine is a royal route where I never pay. And, lastly, how often is the soubrette of the rumble as agreeable a companion as the pale and care-worn lady within?
‘Such is my life. Many would scoff, and call it menial. Let them, if they will. I never felt it so; and once more I say, “Vive la Grande Route!”’
‘But your friends of the “Fischer’s Haus”?’
‘A jolly set of smugglers, with whom for a month or two in summer I take a cruise, less for profit than pleasure. The blue water is a necessary of life to the man that has been some years at sea. My little collection has been made in my wanderings; and if ever you come to Naples, you must visit a cottage I have at Castella Mare, where you ‘ll see something better worth your looking at. And now, though it does not seem very hospitable, I must say adieu.’
With these words Mr. O’Kelly opened a drawer, and drew forth a blue jacket lined with rich dark fur and slashed with black braiding; a greyhound was embroidered in gold twist on the arm, and a similar decoration ornamented the front of his blue-cloth cap. I start for Genoa in half an hour. We’ll meet again, and often, I hope.’
‘Good-bye,’ said I, ‘and a hundred thanks for a pleasant evening, and one of the strangest stories I ever heard. I half wish I were a younger man, and I think I ‘d mount the blue jacket too.’
‘It would show you some strange scenes,’ said Mr. O’Kelly, while he continued to equip himself for the road. ‘All I have told is little compared to what I might tell, were I only to give a few leaves of my life en courier; but, as I said before, we ‘ll live to meet again. Do you know who my party is this morning?’
‘I can’t guess.’