He
carried his articles up from the curb, while the _cocher_ grinned and
winked behind, and taking his turn in the throng of widows, orphans,
ouvriers, and profligates and unfortunates of all loose conditions, Simp
was a subject of much unenviable remark. He came away with quite an
armful of large yellow certificates, and the articles were registered to
Monsieur Simp, a French subject; for with such passports went all his
compatriots.
[Footnote B: The government pawnbroking shop.]
Andy Plade spent twenty-four hours, meanwhile, at the Grand Hotel,
enacting the time-honored part of all things to all men.
He differed from the other colonists, in that they were weak--he was
bad. He spoke several languages intelligibly, and knew much of many
things--art, finances, geography--just those matters on which newly
arrived Americans desire information. His address was even fascinating.
One suspected him to be a leech, but pardoned the motive for the manner.
He called himself a broken man. The war had blighted his fair fortunes.
For a time he had held on hopefully, but now meant to breast the current
no longer. His time was at the service of anybody. Would monsieur like
to see the city? He knew its every cleft and den. So he had lived in
Paris five years--in the same manner, elsewhere, all his life.
Pages:
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26