At sight of the young face, the good creature's smile broke forth irresistibly.
'Ah, but monsieur had slept!' The little eyes ran over the face and figure of the guest with visible pleasure.
The boy laughed—the full, light-hearted laugh that belongs to the beginning of things.
"Yes, I have slept; and now, you may believe, I have an appetite!"
Jean echoed the laugh with a spontaneity that held no disrespect. He lingered, drawn, as the Irishman in the train had been drawn, by something original, something vital, in the youthful personality.
'His faith! But monsieur had the spirit as well as the appetite!'
"Ah, the spirit!" For a fleeting second the boy's eyes looked away beyond Jean—untidy, attentive, comprehending—beyond the neutral-tinted walls and the shabby carpet of the Hôtel Railleux, seeing in vision the things that were to come. Then, with his swift impulsiveness, he flung his dream from him. What mattered the future? What mattered the past? He was here in the present—in the moment; and the moment, great or small, demanded living.
"Never mind the spirit, Jean! Let us consider the flesh! Where is the salle-à-manger?"
'The salle-à-manger was on the second floor.'
'The second floor? But of course! Had not Jean mentioned that fact last night?' With a nod and a smile, he was away down the intervening steps and at the door of the eating-room before Jean could balance his tray for his renewed ascent.