Part 5 (1/2)
”Monsieur Vernon iss, I suppose, a friend?” he stammered.
”No,” said Rushford, ”I've never seen him. But we'll have to treat him well. He's the head of the British foreign office, Pelletan; and one of the high n.o.bility. Beside him, Zeit-Zeit will look like thirty cents!”
CHAPTER III
Distinguished arrivals at Weet-sur-Mer
Even at this unaccustomed hour of the morning, the beach was black with people. It was not to bathe that they had come, for a chill north wind was blowing; nor was it to promenade, for they were not promenading; indeed, it was the fas.h.i.+onable hour for neither of these things, and no one ever dreamed of doing them at any hour other than the fas.h.i.+onable one. It was rather the fas.h.i.+onable hour to turn painfully over in one's bed, and ring the bell, and signify that coffee and rolls would be acceptable.
This morning there had been scant time for such refreshment, or for that preliminary stretching which is so grateful to bodies wearied by late hours and too-rapid living. Instead, nearly all the sojourners at Weet-sur-Mer had arisen aching from their beds, had hurried forth to the beach, and stood there now, facing unanimously seawards, staring toward the dim horizon, only moving convulsively from time to time in the effort to keep warm. Those who had gla.s.ses used them; those who had none, strained nature's binoculars to the limit of vision. From all of which it will be seen that the notary had done his work well, and that neither had Monsieur Pelletan been backward in spreading the great news of the unparalleled occurrence which was about to happen.
”He iss to arrive between t'e hours of seven unt eight,” he had announced. ”Hiss Highness, pe it understood, Lord Vernon, t'e great Englishman. He comes in a special vessel--a sheep-of-t'e-war,” he added with a triumphant flourish. ”He could pring mit' him t'e whole nafy of England, if he wish'!” Ah, what an honour for Weet-sur-Mer! And what a blow for the Grand Hotel Splendide across the way!
Yet Monsieur Pelletan did not in the least understand how it had come to pa.s.s; he suspected his partner of some sort of clairvoyance, of some supernatural power of compelling events, and his admiration for him had deepened to awe. But into this question he did not permit himself to enter deeply; he was content to know that fame and prosperity were returning with a rush to the Grand Hotel Royal. Already there had been a score of applicants for rooms; the corridors were again a.s.suming that air of liveliness and gaiety which had characterised them in those golden days when the August Prince of Zeit-Zeit had been his annual guest. He was no longer ashamed to meet the proprietor of the Grand Hotel Splendide face to face in the full day; he was a different person from the despairing individual of the day before; in a word, he was no longer in ruins! He had been restored, as so many ruins are, by the hand of an American!
At this moment he held the centre of the stage, and it was easy to read in his bearing the consciousness that he deserved the limelight. A strip of crimson carpet had been stretched across the sand to the very water's edge; on either side of it a dozen decorous footmen were aligned, and between them Monsieur Pelletan proudly marched, his head in air, his back very straight, preceding a big, hooded invalid's chair.
Immediately a murmur arose.
”He is ill then!”
”Why the chair?”
”He is coming to take the baths.”
The murmur no doubt penetrated to the ears of the little Alsatian, but he made no sign. He was aware that the envious eyes of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel Splendide were upon him; he would show him that here was a guest more majestic, more worthy of honour than even the Prince of Zeit-Zeit!--a Highness, in short, so extraordinary as to cause that August personage to resemble, in some incomprehensible way, the sum of one franc fifty centimes! Otherwise there would have been no carpet, for the sand was hard and dry. Otherwise, too, perhaps, Monsieur Pelletan would have been content to permit his major-domo to represent him at the water's edge, for he was not accustomed to exposing himself thus to the sharp airs of the morning. His fat red cheeks and plump nose were turning a dull purple--ah, how good would a gla.s.s of cognac taste!--but he bore this discomfort with the greatest fort.i.tude, for, after all, an occasion such as this was worth some sacrifice.
And, be it said, his was not the only purple nose in evidence. There were many men who stared straight before them, daring to look neither to the right nor left; and many women who were thankful for the heavy veils they had had the forethought to put on. Even rouge, however cunningly applied, cannot hide certain ugly lines in the face in the clear, cruel light of the morning!
Strange how the same breeze will give to some cheeks a dull repulsiveness and to others an entrancing glow! A word to lovers: Would you test your mistress's blood and spirit, persuade her to a walk some sharp day in winter; or, if she will not be persuaded, use a little artifice. Then, after wind and frost have had their will of her for half an hour, take a look at her. Are her cheeks glowing, are her eyes bright, is she having a good time? If not, take heed!
There were four cheeks upon the beach at Weet-sur-Mer that morning glowing as I would have your true love's glow; drawing men's eyes and women's, too--the one in admiration, the other in envy. Yes, envy!
though more than one s.h.i.+vering fair spoke a low, slurring word about ”those coa.r.s.e Americans!”
Both Pelletan and the notary had been careful to respect Rushford's wish that his connection with the hotel be kept to themselves; in all their boastings, rejoicings, explanations, his name had not been whispered; and not even to his daughters had that gentleman confided the secret of his plan to get the excitement he had craved so badly. He had feared, perhaps, that they would not enter thoroughly into the spirit of the thing--women, even American women, are sometimes strangely deficient in the sense of humour. But they had both been struck by their host's impressive obsequiousness--a very o.r.g.a.s.m of servility, which Pelletan had hitherto reserved for personages of the blood royal.
”What ails the man?” Susie had asked at dinner the night before, her eyes on Monsieur Pelletan's writhing form. ”He seems to have the stomach-ache.”
”He is probably fis.h.i.+ng for a tip,” said Nell. ”It seems to me that I've seen those symptoms before in a less violent form.”
”Don't you tip him,” commanded their father. ”I'll attend to all that,”
and he beckoned to Pelletan with his finger and whispered a rapid sentence in his ear.
”What did you say to him, dad?” inquired Sue, gazing in some astonishment after their host's retreating coat-tails.
”I told him to go 'way back and sit down,” answered Rushford, going calmly on with his meal.