"That is true," said Brochat. "Alors, I shall see what can be arranged!
I beg that madame will put herself to the trouble of sitting down while
I make the biggest endeavours."
But he returned after a few minutes to declare that the young man's sorrow was so profound that no reply could be extracted from him.
The lady showed signs of temper. "Has this person the monopoly of sorrowing on your premises?" she demanded. "Whom does he lament? Surely the loss of a husband should give me prior claim?"
"I cannot rightly say whom the gentleman laments," stammered Brochat; "the circumstances are, in fact, somewhat unusual. I would mention, however, that the apartment is a spacious one, as madame doubtless recalls, and no further mourners are expected for half an hour. If in the meantime madame would be so amiable as to weep in the young man's presence, I can assure her that she would find him too stricken to stare."
The widow considered. "Well," she said, after the pause, "if you can guarantee his abstraction, so be it! It is a matter of conscience with me to behave in precisely the same way each year, and, rather than miss my meditations there altogether, I am willing to make the best of him."
Brochat, having taken her order for refreshments—for which he always charged slightly higher prices on the first floor—preceded her up the stairs. The single gas-flame that had been kindled in the room was very low, and the lady received but a momentary impression of a man's figure bowed over a white table. She chose a chair at once with her back towards him, and resting her brow on her forefinger, disposed herself for desolation.
It may have been that the stranger's proximity told on her nerves, or it may have been that Time had done something to heal the wound. Whatever the cause, the frame of mind that she invited was slow in arriving, and when the bouillon and biscottes appeared she was not averse from trifling with them. Meanwhile, for any sound that he had made, the young man might have been as defunct as Henri IV; but as she took her second sip, a groan of such violence escaped him that she nearly upset her cup.
His abandonment of despair seemed to reflect upon her own insensibility; and, partly to raise herself in his esteem, the lady a moment later uttered a long-drawn, wistful sigh. No sooner had she done so, however, than she deeply regretted the indiscretion, for it stimulated the young man to a howl positively harrowing.
An impatient movement of her graceful shoulders protested against these demonstrations, but as she had her back to him, she could not tell whether he observed her. Stealing a glance, she discovered that his face was buried in his hands, and that the white table seemed to be laid for ten covers. Scrutiny revealed ten bottles of wine around it, the neck of each bottle embellished with a large crape bow. Curiosity now held the lady wide-eyed, and, as luck would have it, the young man, at this moment, raised his head.
"I trust that my agony does not disturb you, madame?" he inquired, meeting her gaze with some embarrassment.