The spinster's hungry eyes sparkled. Decent poverty has depths unknown to the professed pauper. Mademoiselle's larder would have exhibited a touching spectacle to the eye of the philosopher or physiologist. The philosopher would have wondered that woman can endure privation with such patience: the physiologist would have been surprised that humanity can sustain life upon so little. For weeks past Mademoiselle Beauville's most luxurious idea of dinner had been an egg. For the last week her daily ration had been two halfpenny rolls.
"Tell me all you can about your friend and her grandchild," asked Heathcote eagerly. "I am particularly interested in knowing everything; but as it is dry work talking, and as neither my friend nor I have lunched, it might be a good idea to get a bottle of Bordeaux and a few biscuits, if Mademoiselle will permit us to refresh ourselves in her apartment."
His keen glance had noted the hollow cheeks and glittering eyes of the dressmaker, and he wanted an excuse for giving life and warmth to that impoverished form. Drubarde caught at the idea, thinking that his client's design was to loosen the lady's tongue by the agency of Bacchus. It was altogether an amateur's notion, crude, wanting in subtlety; but the genial Drubarde was willing to indulge a beginner who was feeling his way in the elements of a great art.
"I'll fetch a bottle of wine myself," he said cheerily; "I know where I can get one close by, and of the best."
"Bring two," said Heathcote. "Mademoiselle will accept the second bottle by way of souvenir."
"Monsieur, do you wish to make me a drunkard? I have not tasted wine since my poor friend's death," protested Mademoiselle Beauville, but there was a look in her face which told Heathcote that his gift would not be unwelcome.
Drubarde ran down-stairs like a boy, and was back in five minutes, carrying a couple of sealed bottles, labelled St. Estèphe, and a large bag of biscuits.
Mademoiselle had set out a tray in the mean time, with her poor little stock of glasses, three in all, and one of those cracked, and an old china plate for the biscuits. Again her eyes glistened when she saw the ample biscuit-bag.
"Let me look at the name on the bag," said Heathcote.
Strange, it was the very name upon that biscuit-bag which he carried at this moment, neatly folded in his pocket-book, the bag which had been found in the second-class compartment from which the girl fell!