The old priest piloted her across the crowded platform and having given her luggage to the hotel porter himself took her to the Manager’s little office where Madame, a comely and pleasant looking woman, sat at her desk busily casting up accounts. Her face lighted up at sight of the old man.
“A thousand welcomes Father Nicolas, it is long since you paid us a visit.”
“You are well,” said the old priest, “I need not ask that, for it is easily to be seen, and busy as usual. Is your husband in?”
“He will be desolated, but he has gone to his Club.”
“Ah, well, I will call and see him to-morrow. In the meantime will you kindly do your utmost to make this young English lady feel at home and comfortable. She is unable to travel further till the 8.59 to-morrow morning. I leave you in good hands,” he said, taking kindly leave of Evereld, “Madame has a great reputation for taking good care of her guests.”
“It will be my greatest pleasure,” said the manager’s wife. “Mademoiselle looks tired and will doubtless like to go to her room.”
Evereld assented and toiled upstairs after the brisk capable looking manageress who chatted pleasantly as they went.
“He has the best of hearts, old Father Nicolas,” she said. “I have known him since I was a child. There is not a living thing I verily believe that he does not love. It was a sight to see him standing on a winter’s morning in the garden of the Presbytère and feeding the birds before he went to Mass.”
“Where does he live?” asked Evereld.
“At Arvron, a little village where there are many poor. His people adore him. This will be your room, mademoiselle, and shall I send you up a little hot soup to take the last thing, or will you rather come down to the salle à manger?”