CHAPTER LXXXVI
Wherein our Hero, and Another, go Home
The sunlight that had painted the white face of Paris with a hundred hues all day had given place to a gentle drizzle as the twilight fell; and the steady downpour had driven Noll into a restaurant which he was not in the habit of frequenting; it had kept him there in its bright rooms until he knew every face and every trick of gesture of the people who sat about him.
The night was well advanced when he sallied out into the light rain; turning up his collar, he strode homewards.
He paid small heed to the rain; and as he turned out of the well-washed street into the courtyard where he had his lodging, and climbed the stairs to his room, he scarcely noticed that he was wet.
The rustle of women’s petticoats was in his ears, and when he walked abroad in these days he was aglow with the sense of the warm regard of women’s eyes, that glanced upon him from the dark shadows of rakish hats; the walk and movement of women found a rhythmic echo in his thinking. The warmth of the coming summer was in his blood. His instincts were jigging to the dancing measure of the season.
As he flung off his wet clothes he was seized with a whim to go to the tavern of The Golden Sun; and he decided to humour the whim.
He lit a candle and flipped through a book until it was close on midnight. But he was restless—and he arose eagerly when it was time to go....
As Noll, reaching the bottom step, fumbled at the door that led into the tavern of The Golden Sun, a young woman in black came languidly down the stairs, and he held the door open for her to pass in.