Part 15 (2/2)

The incessant strain told upon both our partners and even upon me, so that I returned to my rooms after dinner one evening determined to go early to bed. But I had scarcely donned my house-coat, settled in my chair, and got my pipe to going, when there came a tap at the door.

”Come in,” I called, thinking it was Mrs. Fitch, my landlady, and too weary to get up.

But it was not Mrs. Fitch's pale countenance, with its crown of gray hair, which appeared in the doorway; it was a rotund and exceedingly florid visage.

”You will pardon me, sir,” began a resonant voice, which I instantly remembered, even before the short, square figure stepped over the threshold into the full light, ”but I have just discovered that I have no match with which to ignite my gas. If I might from you borrow one----”

”Help yourself,” I said, and held out to him my case, which was lying on the table at my elbow.

”You are very good,” he said, and then, as he stepped forward and saw me more distinctly, he uttered a little exclamation of surprise. ”Ah, it is Mistair----”

”Lester,” I added, seeing that he hesitated.

”It is a great pleasure,” he was saying, as he took the matches; ”a great good fortune which brought me to this house. So lonely one grows at times--and then, I greatly desire some advice. If you would have the leisure----”

”Certainly,” and I waved toward a chair. ”Sit down.”

”In one moment,” he said. ”You will pardon me,” and he disappeared through the doorway.

He was back almost at once with a handful of cigarettes, which he placed on the table. Then he drew up a chair. With a little deprecatory gesture, he used one of my matches to light a cigarette.

”It was truly for the gas,” he said, catching my smile; ”and the gas for the cigarette!”

There was something fascinating about the man; an air of good-humor, of comrades.h.i.+p, of strength, of purpose. My eyes were caught by his stodgy, nervous hands, as he held the match to his cigarette; then they wandered to his face--to the black hair flecked here and there with gray; to the bright, deep-set eyes, ambushed under heavy brows; to the full lips, which the carefully arranged mustache did not at all conceal; to the projecting chin, with its little plume of an imperial.

A strong face and a not unhandsome one, with a certain look of mastery about it----

”It is true that I need advice,” he was saying, as he slowly exhaled a great puff of smoke which he had drawn deep into his lungs. ”My name is Martigny--Jasper Martigny”--I nodded by way of salutation--”and I am from France, as you have doubtless long since suspected. It is my desire to become a citizen of Amer-ric'.”

”How long have you been living in America?” I asked.

”Since two months only. It is my intention to establish here a business in wines.”

”Well,” I explained, ”you can take no steps toward naturalization for three years. Then you go before a court and make a declaration of your intentions. Two years later, you will get your papers.”

”You mean,” he hesitated, ”that it takes so many years----”

”Five years' actual residence--yes.”

”But,” and he hesitated again, ”I had understood that--that----”

”That it was easier? There are illegal ways, of course; but you can scarcely expect me to advise you concerning them, Mr. Martigny.”

”No; of course, no!” he cried hastily, waving his hand in disclaimer.

”I did not know--it makes nothing to me--I will wait--I wish to obey the laws.”

He picked up a fresh cigarette, lit it from the other, and tossed away the end.

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