The skipper knew the very place—the Toison d'or (Golden Fleece); when at Marseilles, he put up there himself. If St. Just would accompany him to the agents of the vessel's owners, he would afterwards go with him to the inn in question, and introduce him to the landlady. The prospect was quite to the Frenchman's mind, and, in due course, they made their way together to the Toison d'or, and Mahmoud with them.
Evidently the skipper was a persona grata to the landlady, for she received him with a smiling face and warm congratulations on his return once more to the Phocean city. Altogether she was most effusive; told St. Just that any friend of Captain Ricci's was always welcome, and would receive her best attention. Then she took him upstairs to a bright, cheerful room, in which were two small beds. Everything was so neat and clean, and the hostess was so pleasant and obliging, that St. Just, who had been prepared to find that Ricci's description of the hostelry had been couched in too glowing terms, was fain to admit that every word of his friend's eulogium was deserved. He engaged the bedroom on the spot, and then sent up Mahmoud with their baggage.
This business done, the skipper suggested a parting glass, that each might wish the other "Bon voyage," and "Au Revoir," if possible.
St. Just was nothing loth, and together they adjourned to the common room; it was pretty full, for work was over for the day. All sorts and conditions of men were gathered there; market porters, dock laborers, sailors, soldiers—mostly pensioners, who had lost a leg or an arm in the numerous wars in which France for the last ten years had been engaged. Besides these, there were town officials, shop-keepers and professional men—the whole constituting a fair sample of the male inhabitants of Marseilles.
All seemed to be babbling at the same time, and in all sorts of tongues, and dense clouds of tobacco smoke filled the room, enough to choke one; the walls and ceiling were thick with it.
At intervals along the sides, stuck into tin sconces, tallow candles flared and guttered, emitting far more smell than light, for they were so sparsely placed, as to do little more than make the darkness visible.
Towards the upper end of this sweltering, reeking, voice-resounding den, Captain Ricci and his companion made their way, and found two vacant places at a table. Casting his eye round through the haze of smoke, the skipper spied a good-looking and neatly, though somewhat smartly, dressed young woman who was moving from table to table, ministering to the requirements of the customers!
"Amélie!" he roared out; and, almost before the name had left his lips, the girl was at his side, all smiles.
They ordered some brandy, which presently Amélie brought. Ricci just then saw a friend across the room; so, after drinking up his brandy, and wishing his companion luck, he shook hands with him and moved away to join his other acquaintance. Left to his own resources, St. Just found himself listening, with a sort of half-awakened interest, to the conversation of two men beside him, who looked as if they had seen service in the wars.
St. Just had listened to their talk in a dreamy sort of way. It was something to take him from himself, but he felt little interest in it, and not all of it reached his ears.