CHAPTER 6
The Unknown.
Thus founded and recommended by its sign, the hostelry of
Master Cropole held its way steadily on towards a solid
prosperity.
It was not an immense fortune that Cropole had in
perspective; but he might hope to double the thousand louis
d'or left by his father, to make another thousand louis by
the sale of his house and stock, and at length to live
happily like a retired citizen.
Cropole was anxious for gain, and was half-crazy with joy at
the news of the arrival of Louis XIV.
Himself, his wife, Pittrino, and two cooks, immediately laid
hands upon all the inhabitants of the dove-cote, the
poultry-yard, and the rabbit-hutches; so that as many
lamentations and cries resounded in the yards of the
hostelry of the Medici as were formerly heard in Rama.
Cropole had, at the time, but one single traveler in his
house.
This was a man of scarcely thirty years of age, handsome,
tall, austere, or rather melancholy, in all his gestures and
looks.
He was dressed in black velvet with jet trimmings; a white
collar, as plain as that of the severest Puritan, set off
the whiteness of his youthful neck; a small dark-colored
mustache scarcely covered his curled, disdainful lip.
He spoke to people looking them full in the face without
affectation, it is true, but without scruple; so that the
brilliancy of his black eyes became so insupportable, that
more than one look had sunk beneath his like the weaker
sword in a single combat.
At this time, in which men, all created equal by God, were
divided, thanks to prejudices, into two distinct castes, the
gentleman and the commoner, as they are really divided into
two races, the black and the white, -- at this time, we say,
he whose portrait we have just sketched could not fail of
being taken for a gentleman, and of the best class. To
ascertain this, there was no necessity to consult anything
but his hands, long, slender, and white, of which every
muscle, every vein, became apparent through the skin at the
least movement, and eloquently spoke of good descent.
This gentleman, then, had arrived alone at Cropole's house.
He had taken, without hesitation, without reflection even,
the principal apartment which the hotelier had pointed out
to him with a rapacious aim, very praiseworthy, some will
say, very reprehensible will say others, if they admit that
Cropole was a physiognomist and judged people at first
sight.
This apartment was that which composed the whole front of
the ancient triangular house, a large salon, lighted by two
windows on the first stage, a small chamber by the side of
it, and another above it.
Now, from the time he had arrived, this gentleman had
scarcely touched any repast that had been served up to him
in his chamber. He had spoken but two words to the host, to
warn him that a traveler of the name of Parry would arrive,
and to desire that, when he did, he should be shown up to
him immediately.
He afterwards preserved so profound a silence, that Cropole
was almost offended, so much did he prefer people who were
good company.
This gentleman had risen early the morning of the day on
which this history begins, and had placed himself at the
window of his salon, seated upon the ledge, and leaning upon
the rail of the balcony, gazing sadly but persistently on
both sides of the street, watching, no doubt, for the
arrival of the traveler he had mentioned to the host.
In this way he had seen the little cortege of Monsieur
return from hunting, then had again partaken of the profound
tranquillity of the street, absorbed in his own
expectations.
All at once the movement of the crowd going to the meadows,
couriers setting out, washers of pavement, purveyors of the
royal household, gabbling, scampering shopboys, chariots in
motion, hair-dressers on the run, and pages toiling along,
this tumult and bustle had surprised him, but without losing
any of that impassible and supreme majesty which gives to
the eagle and the lion that serene and contemptuous glance
amidst the hurrahs and shouts of hunters or the curious.
Soon the cries of the victims slaughtered in the
poultry-yard, the hasty steps of Madame Cropole up that
little wooden staircase, so narrow and so echoing, the
bounding pace of Pittrino, who only that morning was smoking
at the door with all the phlegm of a Dutchman; all this
communicated something like surprise and agitation to the
traveler.
As he was rising to make inquiries, the door of his chamber
opened. The unknown concluded they were about to introduce
the impatiently expected traveler, and made three
precipitate steps to meet him.
But, instead of the person he expected, it was Master
Cropole who appeared, and behind him, in the half-dark
staircase, the pleasant face of Madame Cropole, rendered
trivial by curiosity. She only gave one furtive glance at
the handsome gentleman, and disappeared.
Cropole advanced, cap in hand, rather bent than bowing,
A gesture of the unknown interrogated him, without a word
being pronounced.
"Monsieur," said Cropole, "I come to ask how -- what ought I
to say: your lordship, monsieur le comte, or monsieur le
marquis?"
"Say monsieur, and speak quickly," replied the unknown, with
that haughty accent which admits of neither discussion nor
reply.
"I came, then, to inquire how monsieur had passed the night,
and if monsieur intended to keep this apartment?"
"Yes."
"Monsieur, something has happened upon which we could not
reckon."
"What?"
"His majesty Louis XIV. will enter our city to-day and will
remain here one day, perhaps two."
Great astonishment was painted on the countenance of the
unknown.
"The King of France coming to Blois?"
"He is on the road, monsieur."
"Then there is the stronger reason for my remaining," said
the unknown.
"Very well; but will monsieur keep all the apartments?"
"I do not understand you. Why should I require less to-day
than yesterday?"
"Because, monsieur, your lordship will permit me to say,
yesterday I did not think proper, when you chose your
lodging, to fix any price that might have made your lordship
believe that I prejudged your resources; whilst to-day ----
"
The unknown colored; the idea at once struck him that he was
supposed to be poor, and was being insulted.
"Whilst to-day," replied he, coldly, "you do prejudge."
"Monsieur, I am a well-meaning man, thank God! and simple
hotelier as I am, there is in me the blood of a gentleman.
My father was a servant and officer of the late Marechal
d'Ancre. God rest his soul!"
"I do not contest that point with you; I only wish to know,
and that quickly, to what your questions tend?"
"You are too reasonable, monsieur, not to comprehend that
our city is small, that the court is about to invade it,
that the houses will be overflowing with inhabitants, and
that lodgings will consequently obtain considerable prices."
Again the unknown colored. "Name your terms," said he.
"I name them with scruple, monsieur, because I seek an
honest gain, and that I wish to carry on my business without
being uncivil or extravagant in my demands. Now the room you
occupy is considerable, and you are alone."
"That is my business."
"Oh! certainly. I do not mean to turn monsieur out."
The blood rushed to the temples of the unknown; he darted at
poor Cropole, the descendant of one of the officers of the
Marechal d'Ancre, a glance that would have crushed him down
to beneath that famous chimney-slab, if Cropole had not been
nailed to the spot by the question of his own proper
interests.
"Do you desire me to go?" said he. "Explain yourself -- but
quickly."
"Monsieur, monsieur, you do not understand me. It is very
critical -- I know -- that which I am doing. I express
myself badly, or perhaps, as monsieur is a foreigner, which
I perceive by his accent ---- "
In fact, the unknown spoke with that impetuosity which is
the principal character of English accentuation, even among
men who speak the French language with the neatest purity.
"As monsieur is a foreigner, I say, it is perhaps he who
does not catch my exact meaning. I wish for monsieur to give
up one or two of the apartments he occupies, which would
diminish his expenses and ease my conscience. Indeed, it is
hard to increase unreasonably the price of the chambers,
when one has had the honor to let them at a reasonable
price."
"How much does the hire amount to since yesterday?"
"Monsieur, to one louis, with refreshments and the charge
for the horse."
"Very well, and that of to-day?"
"Ah! there is the difficulty. This is the day of the king's
arrival; if the court comes to sleep here, the charge of the
day is reckoned. From that it results that three chambers,
at two louis each, makes six louis. Two louis, monsieur, are
not much; but six louis make a great deal."
The unknown, from red, as we have seen him, became very
pale.
He drew from his pocket, with heroic bravery, a purse
embroidered with a coat-of-arms, which he carefully
concealed in the hollow of his hand. This purse was of a
thinness, a flabbiness, a hollowness, which did not escape
the eye of Cropole.
The unknown emptied the purse into his hand. It contained
three double louis, which amounted to the six louis demanded
by the host.
But it was seven that Cropole had required.
He looked, therefore, at the unknown, as much as to say,
"And then?"
"There remains one louis, does there not, master hotelier?"
"Yes, monsieur, but ---- "
The unknown plunged his hand into the pocket of his
haut-de-chausses, and emptied it. It contained a small
pocket-book, a gold key, and some silver. With this change
he made up a louis.
"Thank you, monsieur," said Cropole. "It now only remains
for me to ask whether monsieur intends to occupy his
apartments to-morrow, in which case I will reserve them for
him; whereas, if monsieur does not mean to do so, I will
promise them to some of the king's people who are coming."
"That is but right," said the unknown, after a long silence,
"but as I have no more money, as you have seen, and as I yet
must retain the apartments, you must either sell this
diamond in the city, or hold it in pledge."
Cropole looked at the diamond so long, that the unknown
said, hastily:
"I prefer your selling it, monsieur; for it is worth three
hundred pistoles. A Jew -- are there any Jews in Blois? --
would give you two hundred or a hundred and fifty for it --
take whatever may be offered for it, if it be no more than
the price of your lodging. Begone!"
"Oh! monsieur," replied Cropole, ashamed of the sudden
inferiority which the unknown reflected upon him by this
noble and disinterested confidence, as well as by the
unalterable patience opposed to so many suspicions and
evasions. "Oh, monsieur, I hope people are not so dishonest
at Blois as you seem to think, and that the diamond, being
worth what you say ---- "
The unknown here again darted at Cropole one of his
withering glances.
"I really do not understand diamonds, monsieur, I assure
you," cried he.
"But the jewelers do: ask them," said the unknown. "Now I
believe our accounts are settled, are they not, monsieur
l'hote?"
"Yes, monsieur, and to my profound regret; for I fear I have
offended monsieur."
"Not at all!" replied the unknown, with ineffable majesty.
"Or have appeared to be extortionate with a noble traveler.
Consider, monsieur, the peculiarity of the case."
"Say no more about it, I desire; and leave me to myself."
Cropole bowed profoundly, and left the room with a stupefied
air, which announced that he had a good heart, and felt
genuine remorse.
The unknown himself shut the door after him, and when left
alone, looked mournfully at the bottom of the purse, from
which he had taken a small silken bag containing the
diamond, his last resource.
He dwelt likewise upon the emptiness of his pockets, turned
over the papers in his pocket-book, and convinced himself of
the state of absolute destitution in which he was about to
be plunged.
He raised his eyes towards heaven, with a sublime emotion of
despairing calmness, brushed off with his hand some drops of
sweat which trickled over his noble brow, and then cast down
upon the earth a look which just before had been impressed
with almost divine majesty.
That the storm had passed far from him, perhaps he had
prayed in the bottom of his soul.
He drew near to the window, resumed his place in the
balcony, and remained there, motionless, annihilated, dead,
till the moment when, the heavens beginning to darken, the
first flambeaux traversed the enlivened street, and gave the
signal for illumination to all the windows of the city.
