And he nailed one of his own bills over the dodger. As he stood there reflectively the lights began to twinkle in the village below like stars winking upwards; the ascending smoke from a chimney seemed a film of lace drawn slowly through the air; from the village forge came a brighter glow as the sparks danced from the hammers on the anvils.
Shaking the reins on his horse’s neck, the soldier continued his way, while the sun, out of its city of clouds, sent beams like a searchlight to the church spire; the fields, marked by the plow; the gaunt stumps in a clearing, displaying their giant sinews. Then the resplendent rays vanished, the battlements crumbled away and night, with its army of shadows, invaded the earth. As Saint-Prosper approached the tavern, set prominently on the brow of the hill, all was solemnly restful save the sign which now creaked in doleful doldrums and again complained wildly as the wind struck it a vigorous blow. The windows were bright from the fireplace and lamp; above the door 57 the light streamed through the open transom upon the swaying sign and the fluttering leaves of the vine that clambered around the entrance.
In the parlor, near a deteriorated piano whose yellow keys were cracked and broken––in almost the seventh stage of pianodum, sans teeth, sans wire, sans everything––he saw the dark-eyed girl and reined his horse. As he did so, she seated herself upon the hair-cloth stool, pressed a white finger to a discolored key and smiled at the not unexpected result––the squeak of decrepitude. While her hand still rested on the board and her features shone strongly in relief against the fire like a cameo profile set in bloodstone, a figure approached, and, leaning gracefully upon the palsied instrument, bent over her with smiling lips. It was the grand seignior, he of the equipage with silver trimmings. If the horseman’s gaze rested, not without interest, on the pleasing picture of the young actress, it was now turned with sudden and greater intentness to that of the dashing stranger, a swift interrogation glancing from that look.
How had he made his peace with her? Certainly her manner now betrayed no resentment. While motionless the rider yet sat in his saddle, an invisible hand grasped the reins.
“Shall I put up your horse?” said a small voice, and the soldier quickly dismounted, the animal vanishing with the speaker, as Saint-Prosper entered the inn. Gay, animated, conscious of his attractions, the fop hovered over the young girl, an all-pervading Hyperion, 58 with faultless ruffles, white hands, and voice softly modulated. That evening the soldier played piquet with the wiry old lady, losing four shillings to that antiquated gamester, and, when he had paid the stakes, the young girl was gone and the buoyant beau had sought diversion in his cups.
“Strike me,” muttered the last named personage, “the little stroller has spirit. How her eyes flashed when I first approached her! It required some tact and acting to make her believe I took her for some one else on the road. Not such an easy conquest as I thought, although I imagine I have put that adventurer’s nose out of joint. But why should I waste time here? Curse it, just to cut that fellow out! Landlord!”
“Yes, sir,” answered the host behind the bar, where he had been quietly dozing on a stool with his back against the wall.
“Do you think my horse will be fit for use to-morrow morning?”
“The swelling has gone down, sir, and perhaps, with care––”
“Perhaps! I’ll take no chances. Hang the nag, but I must make the best of it! See that my bed is well warmed, and”––rising––“don’t call me in the morning. I’ll get up when I please. Tell my man to come up at once––I suppose he’s out with the kitchen wenches. I have some orders to give him for the morning. Stay––send up a lamp, and––well, I believe that’s all for now!”