“Do ask him; I would do as much for you,” said I.
I don’t know whether he smiled, but he said in a gentlemanly tone—that is to say, a tone not hard nor terrifying,—“What sort of trunk was yours?”
I described it, including in my description the green ribbon. And forthwith he took the conductor under hand, and I felt, through all the storm of French which followed, that he raked him fore and aft. Presently he returned to me.
“The fellow avers he was overloaded, and confesses that he removed your trunk after you saw it put on, and has left it behind at Boue-Marine with other parcels; he has promised, however, to forward it to-morrow; the day after, therefore, you will find it safe at this bureau.”
“Thank you,” said I: but my heart sank.
Meantime what should I do? Perhaps this English gentleman saw the failure of courage in my face; he inquired kindly, “Have you any friends in this city?”
“No, and I don’t know where to go.”
There was a little pause, in the course of which, as he turned more fully to the light of a lamp above him, I saw that he was a young, distinguished, and handsome man; he might be a lord, for anything I knew: nature had made him good enough for a prince, I thought. His face was very pleasant; he looked high but not arrogant, manly but not overbearing. I was turning away, in the deep consciousness of all absence of claim to look for further help from such a one as he.
“Was all your money in your trunk?” he asked, stopping me.
How thankful was I to be able to answer with truth—“No. I have enough in my purse” (for I had near twenty francs) “to keep me at a quiet inn till the day after to-morrow; but I am quite a stranger in Villette, and don’t know the streets and the inns.”