Part 20 (1/2)

Mademoiselle Laure recrossed the vestibule and opening a door diametrically opposed to the other, called:

”Monsieur Balthazard!”

Monsieur Balthazard appeared, his s.h.i.+rt sleeves rolled up beyond his elbow, wiping his hands on a blue gingham ap.r.o.n. He was a little slim man who may have been sixty years old. A gla.s.s eye gave him a sardonic, comic or astonished air, according to the way he used his good one, which was constantly moving, at the same time that it was clear and piercing.

”Monsieur Balthazard--what an attire for a head waiter!”

”Madame, I was just rinsing the wine barrels.”

”And how about the errands for the people in rooms twenty-four and twenty-seven.”

A noise at the hall door attracted our attention. It was as though some one were making desperate and fruitless attempts to open it.

”There he is now,” exclaimed Monsieur Balthazard. ”I'll go and let him in. He's probably got his hands full.”

Monsieur Amede, literally swamped beneath his bundles, staggered into the vestibule. To the different errands confided to his charge by the hotel's guests had undoubtedly been added the cook's list, for an enormous cabbage and a bunch of leeks completely hid his face, which was uncovered only as he let them fall to the ground.

When he had finally deposited his treasures, we discovered a small lad about fourteen or fifteen years of age, dressed in a bellboy's uniform which had been made for some one far more corpulent of stature. The sleeves reached far down over his hands, the tight fitting, gold b.u.t.toned jacket strangely resembled a cross between a bag and an overcoat, and though a serious reef had been taken in the trousers at the waist line, the legs would twist and sway--at times being almost as ample as those worn by the Turkish sultanas.

Our coachman now arrived with our luggage.

”Monsieur Amede, take this luggage and accompany Monsieur and Madame to number six.”

The child gathered up his new burden and started upstairs.

We followed, helping him pick up the various objects which successively escaped his grasp.

”Goodness, it seems to me you're awfully young to be doing such heavy work!”

”Oh,” said he, wiping his brow, ”I'm very lucky. My mother is cook here, and Monsieur Balthazard is my uncle. With old fat Julia, the maid, and Mathilde, the linen woman, we're all that's left. All the men have gone to war, and the women into the powder mills. We keep the hotel going, we do.”

Monsieur Amede was full of good will, and a desire to help me all he could. He explained to us that he was now building the solid foundation of a future whose glories he hardly dare think, so numerous and unfathomable did they seem. Unfortunately, however, we were obliged to note that he seemed little gifted for the various occupations to which he had consecrated his youth--and his glorious future--for in less than five minutes he had dropped a heavy valise on my toes, and upset an ink-well, whose contents dripped not only onto the carpet but onto one of my new bags. In trying to repair damages, Monsieur Amede spoiled my motor veil and got several large spots on the immaculate counterpane, after which he bowed himself out, wiping his hands on the back of his jacket, a.s.suring us that there was no harm done, that no one would scold us, nor think of asking us for damages.

We saw him again at dinner time, when disguised as a waiter he pa.s.sed the different dishes, spilling sauce down people's necks, tripping on his ap.r.o.n and scattering the handsome pyramids of fruit hither and yon.

Lastly he took a plunge while carrying out an over-loaded tray, but before any one could reach him he was on his feet, bright and smiling, exclaiming:

”I'm not hurt. No harm done. I'll just sweep it up. It won't stain.”

In the meantime quiet, skilful Uncle Balthazard strained every nerve in a herculean effort to keep his temper and serve thirty persons all at once.

It was touching to hear the old man murmur, ”Gently, boy--go gently,”

as his youthful protege stumbled from one blunder to another. ”Go gently, you can be so clever when you're not in a hurry!”

Monsieur Amede almost caused us to miss the train next evening in spite of the numerous warnings from the princess behind the desk, who had arranged the hour of our departure. That brilliant young man who had been sent ahead with our luggage was nowhere to be found when our train was announced. My husband, a woman porter, a soldier on furlough who knew him, started out to scour the immediate surroundings of the station, finally locating him in a backyard near the freight depot, his hands in his pockets, excitedly following a game of nine-pins at which a group of convalescent African soldiers was playing.

Of course he immediately explained that there was no harm done since the train was twenty minutes late, and when finally it arrived and he handed our baggage into the compartment, he accidentally let slip a little wooden box containing an old Sevres vase, which I had purchased at an antiquity dealer's that very morning.

He picked it up, exclaiming: