Part 12 (1/2)

”No-o.”

”Well, where do you suppose he will take us?”

”I don't know, and I don't much care,” I responded, in desperation.

We settled back upon the cus.h.i.+ons. The peace that follows resignation possessed our souls. O, the luxury of that jolting, rattling ride, as we wound in and out among the tortuous streets! A full half hour pa.s.sed before the dusky old hotel darkened above us, surmounted by ”The Three Kings” arrayed in Eastern magnificence, and wearing gilded crowns upon their heads.

Fate had been propitious. This was our destination, without doubt, though we had made a grand mistake as to its location. We descended at the entrance with the air, I trust, of being equal to the occasion. We calmly surveyed the a.s.sembled porters, who hastened to seize our satchels and wraps. We demanded a room, and inquired the hour of _table d'hote_, as though we had done the same thing a thousand times before.

Mrs. K. was right; there was a moral support in that blessed carriage.

_Table d'hote_ over, we strayed into a pretty _salon_ opening from the _salle a manger_. Both were crowded--over doors and windows, and within cabinets filling every niche and corner--with quaint specimens of pottery--pitchers, vases, and jars, ancient enough in appearance to have graced the domestic establishment of the original ”Three Kings.” The gla.s.s doors thrown back enticed us upon a long, low balcony, almost swept by the rus.h.i.+ng river below--the beautiful Rhine hastening on to its hills and vineyards. We leaned over, smitten with sudden homesickness, and sent a message back to Rolandseck of happy memory.

With the faint shadows of coming twilight we wandered out into the square before the hotel. A line of _voitures_ extended down one side, every one of which was quickened into life at our approach. We paused, with foot upon the step of the first, for the _carte_ always proffered, upon which is the number of the driver and the established rate of fares. He only touched his s.h.i.+ny hat and prepared to gather up his reins.

”O, dear!” we said; ”this will never do; we must not go.” And we stepped down. The porters upon the hotel steps began to cast inquiring glances. One or two stray pa.s.sers added their mite of curiosity, when the knight-errant, who always breaks a lance for distressed womanhood, appeared upon the scene. We recognized him at once, though his armor was only a suit of gray tweed, and he wore a fas.h.i.+onable round-topped hat for a casque.

Almost before we knew it, we were seated in the carriage, the _carte_ in our hands, and were slowly crawling out of the square--for a subdued snail-pace is the highest point of speed attained by these public vehicles.

The memory of Basle is as shadowy, dim, delightful, as was that twilight ride. Where we were going, we neither knew nor cared; nor, later, where we had been. We wound in and out the close streets of the old part of the city, full of a busy life so far removed from our own, that it seemed a show, a picture; below the surface we could not penetrate. We rolled along wide avenues where the houses on either side were white as the dust under the wheels. Once in a quiet square, we paused before an old _Hotel de Ville_, frescoed in warm, rich colors. Again upon the outskirts of the city, before a monument; but whether it had been erected to hero or saint I cannot now recall. And somewhere, when the dusk was deepening, we found an old church, gray as the shadows enveloping it, with a horseman, spear in hand, cut in _bas relief_ upon one side. What dragon he made tilt against in the darkness we never knew.

Even our driver seemed to warm beneath the influences which subdued and dissipated our cares. He nodded gently and complacently to acquaintances, eliciting greetings in return, in which we, in a measure, shared. He hummed a guttural, though cheerful song, which found an echo in our hearts. He stood up in his place to point the way to misguided strangers, in whose perplexities we could so well sympathize. And once, having laid down the reins, and paused in our slow advance, he held a long and seemingly enjoyable conversation with a pa.s.sing friend. To all this we made no manner of objection, rather we entered into the spirit of the hour, and were filled with a complacency which was hastily banished upon our return to the hotel, where, as we put into the hand of our benevolent driver his due, and the generous _pour boire_ which gave always such a twinge to our temperance principles, he demanded more.

”He claims,” said the porter, who was a.s.sisting our descent, ”that he has been driving with the carriage lamps lighted. There is an extra charge for that.”

”But he left his seat to light them this moment, just before we turned into the square,” we replied, indignantly.

The porter shrugged his shoulders. That is the end of an argument. There is never anything more to be said. We submitted at once, though our faith in benevolent humanity went to the winds.

Somewhat dispirited, we climbed the stairs to our room. ”One day more,”

we said, ”and our troubles will be at an end.” But, alas! one day was as a thousand years!

It was to be an all-day's ride to Paris, from nine o'clock in the morning until half past nine or ten at night. So, while waiting for breakfast, we hastened out into the town, in search of a bookstore, and something to while away the dull hours before us.

A young man, of preternaturally serious countenance, was removing the shutters as we entered a musty little shop. We turned over the Tauchnitz's editions of English novels until we had made a choice, the value of our purchases amounting to four or five francs, and gave him a napoleon. With profuse apologies he left us to get it changed. Returning presently, he threw the silver into a drawer, and handed the books to us, with a ”_Merci_.”

”Yes,” we said; ”but--” Arithmetic had never been my strength; still something was clearly wrong here.

”The change,” said Mrs. K. ”He has given us no change.” Sure enough; but still he continued to bow and thank us, evidently expecting us to go.

We tried to explain; eliciting only one of the blank stares that usually followed our attempts at explanation.

”The man must be an idiot,” Mrs. K. said, gravely.

”He certainly has an imbecile expression of countenance,” I a.s.sented. He stood still, bowing at intervals, while we calmly weighed and balanced his wits before his eyes. We tried signs; having through much practice developed a system to which the deaf and dumb alphabet is as nothing. We attempted to convince him that a part of the money was ours.

He smiled, and a.s.sured us, in a similar way, that the books belonged to us, the money to him.

There was so much justice in this, that we should doubtless have a.s.sented, had not his own wits finally a.s.serted themselves. Blus.h.i.+ng like a bashful boy, he suddenly exclaimed, counted out the change, and poured it into our hands with so many apologies, that we were glad to retreat.

It was a discouraging beginning for the new day. Still we would not despair. We had a.s.sured our anxious friends that we were quite able to take care of ourselves. We would triumphantly prove our own words.

Breakfast over, and our bill settled without mishap or misunderstanding, we started for the station in the hotel omnibus, in company with a stout, genial Frenchman, who spoke a little English, and his fussy little wife. When we entered the station, the line formed before the ticket-window was already formidable. It lacked fifteen minutes of the hour when the train would start, and our baggage was--where? We seized a _commissionaire_, slipped a piece of money into his hand in a very bungling, shamefaced way, and, presto! in a moment our trunks appeared among the other baggage, though we had looked in vain for them before.

Then, with a sensation of self-consciousness approaching guilt, I stepped to the foot of the line before the ticket-window.