Fitzgerald sat down and gulped his coffee. “They broke my monocle in the struggle.”
Maurice choked in his cup.
“I've worn it twelve years, too,” went on Fitzgerald.
“Everything is for the best,” said Maurice. “You will be able to see out of both eyes.”
“Confound you!” cried Fitzgerald, smiling in spite of himself; “nothing will disturb you.”
“You mean, nothing shall. Now, there's the bed and there's the lounge. Since you are the principal, that is to say, the constituent part of this affair, and also the principal actor in this extravaganza, suppose you take the bed and leave me the lounge? And the deuce take the duchess, who is probably a woman with a high forehead and a pair of narrow eyes!” He threw down his napkin and made for the lounge, without giving any particular attention to the smile and frown which were struggling in the Englishman's eyes. In less than a minute Maurice was dozing.
Fitzgerald thought that the best thing he could do was to follow the philosophical example of his friend. “These Americans,” he mused, as he arranged the pillow under his ear, “are `fifteen puzzles'; you can move them, or you can't.”
As for Maurice, he was already dreaming; he was too tired to sleep. Presently he thought he was on a horse again, and was galloping, galloping. He was heading his old company to the very fringe of the alkali. The Apaches had robbed the pay train and killed six men, and the very deuce was to pay all around.... Again he was swimming, and a beautiful girl reached out a hand and saved him. Ah! how beautiful she was, how soft and rich the deep brown of her eyes!... The scene shifted. The president of the South American republic had accepted his sword (unbeknown to the United States authorities), and he was aiding to quell the insurrection. And just then some one whispered to him that gold would rise fifty points. And as he put out his hands to gather in the glittering coins which were raining down, the face of Colonel Beauvais loomed up, scowling and furious.... And yet again came the beautiful girl. He was holding her hand and the archbishop had his spread out in benediction over their heads.... A hand, which was not of dreamland, shook him by the arm. He opened his eyes. Fitzgerald was standing over him. The light of the sun spangled the walls opposite the windows. The clock marked the eleventh hour of day.
“Hang you!” he said, with blinking eyes; “why didn't you let me be? I was just marrying the princess, and you've spoiled it all. I—” He jumped to his feet and rubbed his eyes, and, forgetful of all save his astonishment, pursed his lips into a low whistle.