Lippincotts Magazine, December 1873 | Page 8

is expected at the office, but I fear it will not be received in time for
you to take the next train. I fear we shall be obliged to keep you with us
until thirty minutes past one."
He conferred on me, with his neck and his hand, a salute which had the
effect of being made from a distant window. Then he departed.
To ask such a man for money was not easy. I dressed myself and
marched in great haste to the gay quarter of the town, having made up
my mind to depend on the mercies of the chief jeweler and the merits
of my Poitevin watch. It had cost a thousand francs, and would surely,
after many a service rendered, help me now to regain my home.
Another disappointment--not a pawn-broker to be found in Carlsruhe! I
was ready to look upon myself as a fixture in the town, when a brilliant
idea flashed upon me. One of my neighbors at table was
transportation-agent at the railway dépôt. What so opportune for me as
a credit on the railway company? With his recommendation my watch
would surely be security enough.
Delighted with the thought, and with my own cleverness in originating
it, I made briskly for the Ettlingen Gate, before which the road passes.
Glancing at the clock on the dépôt, I regulated first my watch by the
time of the place, in order that no doubt might be cast on its perfect
regularity. I was holding it in my hand, my eyes still riveted on the
great clock, as I stepped over the nearest rails. A shout, mixed with
imprecations, was audible. My coat was seized by a vigorous fist, I was
rudely pushed, my watch escaped, and the train from Frankfort, which
was just entering the dépôt, only rendered it to my hands crushed,
peeled and pounded. Instead of a thousand francs, my old friend would
hardly bring five dollars.
[Illustration: LOSING TIME]
After such a catastrophe what remained for me to do? Evidently to
humble my pride and beg an obolus of young Berkley. I represented to
myself that the victory over my own false shame was worth many
watches, and I began to compose a little speech intended for his ear, in

which I compared myself to Dante at the convent door.
I found him in his office clasping a hand-valise. "I am about to go away
by your train," he said, without waiting for me to speak or remarking
my shabby-genteel expression of heroism. He added, as he handed me a
great sealed envelope, "There is your passport. Nothing imperative
requires my stay here: I shall accompany you, then, as far as the station
of Oos, and while you are continuing your route toward your beloved
metropolis, I will go and finish my leave of absence at Baden-Baden,
where I am claimed by certain conditions of my liver."
[Illustration: GRAND DUKE'S PALACE, BADEN.]
I was so nervous and uncertain of myself that this little change in the
horizon upset me completely. For the life of me I could not, at that
moment, and at the risk of seeing him drop his bag and rain its contents
over the official courtyard, rehearse my awkward accident and
disreputable beggary. On the other hand, it was much to gain a friendly
companion and pass arm-in-arm with him to the ticket-office. Leaving
every other plan uncertain, I determined to start from Carlsruhe in his
diplomatic shadow.
I dashed with surprising agility into the house to ask for my account
with Francine. I was about to explain that I would quickly settle with
her from Paris, when the thoughtful little woman anticipated me.
"Monsieur Flemming," she said, with her sweet supplicating air, "you
left the city without meaning it. If you would like a little advance,
monsieur, I am quite well supplied just now. Dispose of me: I shall be
so thankful!"
The money of Fortnoye! the thought was impossible. It was impossible
to resist taking her bright brown head between my hands and secreting
a kiss somewhere in the laminations of the artisanne cap.
"Dear infant! I shall be an unhappy old fellow if I do not see you again
very soon."
--And I was off, dragged by those obligations of the time-table which

have no tenderness toward human sentiment. At one o'clock I was at
the railway with Sylvester. I was uncertain of my plans, and the
confusion of the dépôt added nothing to the clearness inside my head.
Berkley advanced first to the ticket-seller's window. "A first-class place
for Baden-Baden," said he.
"How many?" briskly asked the clerk, seeing us together.
At that moment Sylvester heard a ghostly voice at his ear: "You may
get a couple." The voice was mine.
Berkley got them and