“If this is a hotel, it beats anything New York can show,” was the traveler’s decision by this time. “And if it is not a hotel, it can only be a fairy-story!”
However, without troubling his head any further, he followed the servant down the stairs, at the end of which he found his genial host awaiting his arrival. The latter immediately took his arm and escorted him through one of the parlors, at the other end of which a door was flung open by the servant.
A little dining-room was disclosed to his view—a dining-room so perfect in all its furnishings that it cost him an effort to restrain an exclamation. The table was a small one, but was perfectly appointed, with cut-glass and silver, and there were several small lamps upon it.
There were seats for only two, and after the Frenchman had seated his guest he himself took the other chair. Then a dinner was served which was the first respectable meal the American had eaten since he left home.
He had by this time determined to enjoy himself and let his cousin pay the bill, if necessary; so he made no attempt to restrain his appetite. His host evidently expected him to be hungry after his journey, for he plied him with every conceivable variety of eatables.
“Where in the world can they get them all from?” Roberts thought. “I have been expecting to live on beans and bacon up at the mines!”
To be sure it was rather an embarrassing meal, from one point of view, for the utmost in the way of conversation which could be managed was an occasional exchange of smiles between the two persons. “But if we could talk there might be an end to this state of affairs!” thought Roberts. “And I have no mind to be turned out until daylight, anyway.”
By this time his cogitations over the strange condition of things had resulted in the conclusion that it could not possibly be an inn to which he had come. “It must be some kind of a private house,” he thought. “But what in the world is it doing away off up here in this lonely, God-forsaken country, and what the people want to do with me is more than I can imagine. I can’t help thinking it is a mistake of some kind; and I wonder who can live here—surely, not this queer little fellow, all by himself!”
Roberts had seen no one else except the servants, but this did not seem strange when he came to think of it, for on the mantelpiece was a clock which informed him that it was then nearly two in the morning.
“Perhaps I will find out more when day comes,” he thought. “I am safe for tonight, anyhow, I think.”