"How strange that is!" he said. "If I were a bird and saw the great sky, knowing myself imprisoned, I should beat my life out against my cage."
The Irishman looked down upon him. "I wonder!" he said, slowly.
The quick, gray eyes flashed up to his. "You doubt it?"
"I don't know! 'On my soul, I don't know!"
"Would you not beat your life out against a cage?"
"I wonder that too! I'd like to think I would, but—"
"You imagine you would hesitate? You think you would shrink?"
"I don't know! Human nature is so damnably patient. Come along! here's the place we're looking for." He drew the boy across the road to the doorway of a little café, over the door of which hung the somewhat pretentious sign Maison Gustav.
The Maison Gustav was scarcely a more appetizing place than the Hôtel Railleux. One-half of its interior was partitioned off and filled with long tables, at which, earlier in the day, workmen were served with déjeuner, while the other and smaller portion, reserved for more fastidious guests, was fitted with a counter, ranged with fruit and cakes, and with half a dozen round marble-topped tables, provided with chairs.
This more refined portion of the café was empty of customers as the two entered. With the ease and decision of an habitué, the Irishman chose the table nearest to the counter, and presently a woman appeared from some inner region, and, approaching her customers, eyed them with that mixture of shrewd observation and polite welcome that belongs to the Frenchwoman who follows the ways of commerce.