Kent's appointment with Beaufort next evening was for half-past eight, outside the Café de la Paix. The sous remaining after the conversation in the rue Saint-Honoré had gone for a nursery requirement, so he was unable to sit down while he waited. His man was very late, and he walked to and fro before the stretch of chairs and tables on the boulevard for nearly an hour, tacitly confessing himself penniless to every idler there. When Billy arrived at last, he began by saying that his news was "not altogether unsatisfactory," whereat Humphrey's heart sank, and when details were forthcoming, it appeared to him about as unsatisfactory as it could possibly have been. Stripped of the circumlocution by which the speaker sought to palliate its asperities, the news was, that the completion of his business had been deferred till Saturday, and that while he was confident of "touching" then, he feared that he could do nothing in the meantime. Kent took no pains to conceal his despondence. Seeing that he and Cynthia must leave the boarding-house by noon, and get the nurse out of the way and into the train by ten o'clock in the morning, "Saturday" sounded as hopeless as Doomsday. He explained the urgency of the situation afresh, over a fine, and, after reflection, Billy thought that, assisted by the signature of somebody else, he could raise a hundred and fifty francs in another quarter. When he had had a second fine he was sure of it, and bade Humphrey meet him there again on the morrow at a quarter to two.
The following day was Thursday, and when Kent descended about eleven, madame Garin requested him to sign the document her lawyer had drawn up. After that had been done, and J duly witnessed—one may do anything one likes in France excepting not pay—Kent told her that his wife wished her to view the contents of the baby's trunk before it was closed. As a matter of fact, it was a rather large one, and they were anxious to avoid the possibility of its giving rise to remark in front of servants at the moment of departure. She replied that such an examination was not necessary; it would be sufficient if they instructed their nurse to pack nothing that didn't belong to the little one. This led to his informing her that the girl was quitting their service, and, to his horror, madame Garin said frigidly:
"You know what I have consented to, monsieur? The things of the child; and for madame Kent and yourself what is enough for one week. Nothing else."
"My God!" exclaimed Kent with a gasp; "you don't mean to say you won't let the girl take her box?"
"But certainly I mean it," she returned. "It was perfectly understood. I have already been too liberal."
"But—but—heavens above!" he stammered, "the girl doesn't owe you anything! My wife is dismissing her, so as to keep our humiliation from her knowledge, madame. If you refuse to let her box go, the exposure is complete!"
The proprietress shrugged her shoulders: "That does not concern me!"
This time Kent literally lacked the courage to tell Cynthia what had occurred. He went out, and dropped on to the first bench that he came to, sick in his soul. What was the use now if Beaufort did bring him the money when they met? The girl could not be sent home without her luggage, and they would have to make a clean breast of the whole affair to her, and beg her to be tolerant with them. Cynthia had been very plucky; she had taken the disappointment of last night like a brick, and was at the moment full of hope for the result of the appointment at a quarter to two; but he felt that this unexpected blow would surely crush her. It was the death-stroke to their scheme and entailed even more mortification than they had feared originally. He was at the foot of the Champs Elysées, and he sat staring with wide eyes at the passers-by—at the bonnes, big of bosom, with the broad, bright ribbons depending from their caps; at the children with their hoops, and the women in knicker-bockers, flashing through the sunshine on their bicycles. Paris looked so light-hearted that woe seemed incongruous in it.
Now, it happened, about half an hour subsequent to his leaving the house, that Cynthia decided to go with her baby and the nurse for a walk. Halfway down the stairs it was perceived that something had been forgotten, and she continued the descent alone. To her dismay, she saw the gaunt figure of madame Garin standing at the office door, and as she came timorously down the last flight, the proprietress stood with folded arms, watching her. Perhaps her nervousness was very evident; perhaps the other had been sorrier for her than she had shown; but as the girl reached the hall the grim old woman moved towards her, and, with a gesture that said as plainly as words, "Oh, you poor little soul!" took her face between her hands, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Listen," she said; "that's all right about the box of your servant—be easy!"