With a slight bow to the Princess, he added, “I hope madam will pardon these intimate details: also certain deficiencies in my present toilet.”
224“Make no apologies, and tell everything,” she answered, “I am one of the family.”
Pats continued: “During nine days I travelled south, retracing my steps, but on this side of the river. The woods are different up there, with a maddening undergrowth, and it soon made an end of what clothes I had left. Yesterday morning I saw the sea again.”
To every word of this narrative Elinor had listened, absorbed and self-forgetful. As for the Princess, she loved the unexpected, and here she found it. The more she studied Pats, the better she liked him and his cheerfulness,–a cheerfulness which seemed to rise triumphant above all human hardship. She took an interest in his unkempt hair and barbaric, four weeks’ beard, in his scratched and sunburnt chest and arms. Even in the tattered remnants of his clothes she found a certain entertainment. And she noticed that while he stood talking in the presence of two ladies he appeared unembarrassed by his semi-nakedness, perhaps from the habit of it. And, after all, what cause for embarrassment? How many times, on the beach at Trouville, had she conversed with gentlemen who wore even less upon their persons?
Another surprise was given her when a brown 225setter, from somewhere in the forest, came flying toward them, and threw himself upon the long lost Pats. And the dog’s delight at the meeting was similar to Elinor’s. He, in turn, was presented to the Princess, who patted his head.
“Bon jour, Monsieur Solomon. I am happy to meet you: and for your enthusiasm I have the profoundest regard.”
Then, as they all started toward the cottage, Pats still answering Elinor’s questions, there appeared among the pines a black figure which recalled pictures of Dante in the forest of Ravenna. This figure halted in surprise at sight of the half-naked savage approaching with an easy self-possession, a lady on either side. And evidently the savage was a welcome object–a thing of interest–of affection even, if outward signs were trustworthy. And his Grace, when presented to this uncouth object, made no effort at assuming joy. Whether from an unfamiliarity with wild men, or from some other reason, this creature proved offensive to him. The lately lamented lover appeared politely indifferent to the priest’s opinion,–good or bad,–and this so augmented his Grace’s irritation that his words of welcome 226displayed more dignity than warmth. After proper congratulations on the return of her friend, he said to Elinor, in impressive tones, with a fatherly benevolence:
“We always rejoice when a human life is saved, but it would prove a sad misfortune, indeed, should it cause you to falter in your high resolve and return to worldly affairs.”
Elinor instinctively edged a little closer to Pats and slid a hand in one of his,–a movement observed by the Princess.
His Grace, with yet greater impressiveness in tone and manner, added: