There was a tone of deep dejection, mingled with a sense of conscious pride, in which he said these few words, that at once decided me not to grieve him by a refusal.
“You may count on me, then, Monsieur,” said I. “My stay here is so far uncertain, that it depends not altogether on myself; but for the present I am your guest.”
I took my purse from my pocket as I spoke, knowing the custom in these humbler boarding-houses was to pay in advance; but the old man reddened slightly, and motioned with his hand a refusal.
“Monsieur is a captain in the Guards,” said he, proudly; “no more is necessary.”
“You mistake, friend, I am no longer so; I have left the army.”
“Left it, en retraite?” said he, inquiringly.
“Not so; left it at my own free will and choice. And now, perhaps, I had better tell you, that as I may not enjoy any considerable share of goodwill from the police authorities here, my presence might be less acceptable to your other guests, or to yourself.”
The old man's eyes sparkled as I spoke, and his lips moved rapidly, as though he were speaking to himself; then, taking my hand, he pressed it to his lips, and said,—
“Monsieur could not be more welcome than at present. Shall we expect you to-day at dinner?”
“Be it so. Your hour?”