The tutor, for his part, experienced a strange emotion too. The opening day had brought a crisis in his life as well as in that of his ward. It was a day to which he had long looked forward, partly with the dread of separation, partly with the joy of a man who has honestly done his work and is about to render up his trust. But was it all over now? No longer now was he a guardian or governor. Was he therefore to lose this gallant comrade, to whom all the brotherhood in his nature went out?
With reflections such as these it is scarcely to be wondered at that little was said during that long aimless walk.
At last Roger shivered.
“Let’s turn in,” said Mr Armstrong.
They were in a street off the Strand, a long way from their hotel, and no cab in sight.
“Any place will do,” said Roger. “Why not this?” and he pointed to the door of a seedy-looking private hotel, over which a lamp burned with the legend—“Night porter in attendance.”
The tutor surveyed the house curiously through his and then said—
“Quite so; I stayed here once before,” and rang the bell.
The door was opened by a person of whose nationality there could be little doubt, particularly when, after a momentary inspection of his belated guests, he uttered an exclamation of joy and accosted the tutor—
“Mon ami! Oh! I am glad to see you, my good friend. Friend of my pauvre père!—friend of my youth! It is you. Ah, Monsieur!” added he, addressing Roger, “for your friend’s sake you are welcome. Entrez!”