As thus he meditated the first of night’s outriders, its fast-coming shadows, stole through the window; following these swift van-couriers, night’s chariot came galloping across the heavens; in the sky several little clouds melted like Cleopatra’s pearls. Musing before his fire the poet sat, not dreaming thoughts no mortal ever dreamed before, but turning the bacon and apples and stirring in a few herbs, for no other 296 particular reason than that he had them and thought he might as well use them.
“Celestina is taking longer than usual,” he mused. “Perhaps, though, Monsieur Tortier intends to surprise me with an unusually fine bottle. Yes; that is undoubtedly the reason for the delay. He is hunting about in the cellar for something a little out of the ordinary. But here is Celestina now!” as the child reappeared, with footsteps so noiseless the poet saw before he heard her. “Where is the bottle, my little Ariel? It must be an extra fine vintage. Bless old Tortier’s noble heart!”
“There isn’t any bottle,” said the child. “Monsieur said that your account––”
“The miserable old hunks! His heart’s no bigger than a pin-head!”
“Please, I’m so sorry!” spoke up Celestina, a suspicious moisture in her eyes.
“I know it, my dear,” returned Straws. “Your heart is as big as his whole body. One of your tears is more precious than his most priceless nectar.”
“I beg-ged him––that’s why I––I stayed so––long!” half-sobbed Celestina.
“There! there!” said Straws, wiping her eyes. “Of course it’s very tragic, but there’s no use crying over spilled milk. Dear me, dear me; what can we do? It’s terrible, but you know the proverb: ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’ Perhaps this one has. I wish it had; or a golden one! Think of a cloud of gold, 297 Celestina! Wouldn’t we be rich? What would you do with it?”
“I’d go to––Monsieur Tortier’s and––and get the bottle,” said the child in an agony of distress.
He lifted her on his knee, soothed her and held her in his arms, stroking her dark hair.