"It is clean and respectable," objected André. "Messieurs cannot walk the streets till morning."
A door was as mysteriously opened, leading into a room. A couple of candles were burning at a table, round which some rough-looking men were seated, drinking and playing cards, but keeping silence. It looked suspicious and uninviting.
"In fact we might be murdered here," shuddered H.C.: "most certainly we should be robbed."
André made his request: could they give us lodgment?
"Not so much as a chair or a bench," answered the woman, to our relief; for though we should never have entered, André might have disappeared with the baggage and given us some trouble. He evidently had all the obstinacy of the Breton about him, and was growing desperate. The door was closed again without ceremony, and once more we were left to make the best of it.
This time we took the lead and made for the hotel. Again we passed through the wonderful street with the overhanging eaves and gables. Again we paused and lingered, lost in admiration. But the light had departed from the latticed window, and no doubt in dreams the Fair One was beholding again the vision of H.C.
A few minutes more and we stood before the hotel. They were just closing the doors. Monsieur Hellard was crossing the passage at the moment. Never shall I forget his consternation. He raised his hands, and his hair stood on end.
"What's the matter?" he cried.
"Matter enough," replied André taking up the parable. "Madame never sent to the bouchère, and the bouchère has no room. And I think"—despair giving him courage—"it was too bad to give us a wild goose chase at this time of night."
"And now you must do your best and put us where you can," I concluded. "We are too tired to stir another step."