CHAPTER LXI
Wherein the Landlord of The Scarlet Jackass is unable to sing his Song
At the tavern of The Scarlet Jackass the hero of the evening was a young poet who had that day found a publisher. The wines and ale went round. Amidst uproar they were crowning the old mad poet Gattepoésie with a wreath of pure white roses, where he sat blinking and smiling in a chair upon a table, that he, having uttered a panegyric upon the new immortal, after the manner of the Academy, might conduct him to the chair and crown him; and it was in the midst of the resulting fooleries that Noll, nudging Horace Malahide, noticed the absence of André Joyeux—missing the flow of his rollicking wit and the effect of his commanding personality.
He signed to one of the waiters, an enormous stout man, chosen by André because he resembled Renan in his Academic uniform.
“Garçon,” said he—“where is the master?”
He was resting—upstairs—in the room just over the tavern. He was only allowed to drink milk—he was in need of rest.
The young Englishmen said they would go up and see him, and the waiter leading the way, the two young fellows followed him up the private stair. At the door the waiter knocked, and left them. They entered.
On his bed lay André Joyeux, his face deathly pale, and a drawn look about the eyes.
He received the two young fellows affectionately, held Noll’s hand, embraced Horace.