第78章

"This gentleman," said Grandemont, "will dine with me.Furnish him with bath and clothes.In twenty minutes have him ready and dinner served."

Louis approached the disreputable guest with the suavity due to a visitor to Charleroi, and spirited him away to inner regions.

Promptly, in twenty minutes, Absalom announced dinner, and, a moment later, the guest was ushered into the dining hall where Grandemont waited, standing, at the head of the table.The attentions of Louis had transformed the stranger into something resembling the polite animal.Clean linen and an old evening suit that had been sent down from town to clothe a waiter had worked a miracle with his exterior.

Brush and comb had partially subdued the wild disorder of his hair.

Now he might have passed for no more extravagant a thing than one of those /poseurs/ in art and music who affect such oddity of guise.The man's countenance and demeanour, as he approached the table, exhibited nothing of the awkwardness or confusion to be expected from his Arabian Nights change.He allowed Absalom to seat him at Grandemont's right hand with the manner of one thus accustomed to be waited upon.

"It grieves me," said Grandemont, "to be obliged to exchange names with a guest.My own name is Charles."

"In the mountains," said the wayfarer, "they call me Gringo.Along the roads they call me Jack."

"I prefer the latter," said Grandemont."A glass of wine with you, Mr.

Jack."

Course after course was served by the supernumerous waiters.

Grandemont, inspired by the results of Andre's exquisite skill in cookery and his own in the selection of wines became the model host, talkative, witty, and genial.The guest was fitful in conversation.

His mind seemed to be sustaining a seccession of waves of dementia followed by intervals of comparative lucidity.There was the glassy brightness of recent fever in his eyes.A long course of it must have been the cause of his emaciation and weakness, his distracted mind, and the dull pallor that showed even through the tan of wind and sun.

"Charles," he said to Grandemont--for thus he seemed to interpret his name--"you never saw the mountains dance, did you?"

"No, Mr.Jack," answered Grandemont, gravely, "the spectacle has been denied me.But, I assure you, I can understand it must be a diverting sight.The big ones, you know, white with snow on the tops, waltzing--/decollete/, we may say."

"You first scour the kettles," said Mr.Jack, leaning toward him excitedly, "to cook the beans in the morning, and you lie down on a blanket and keep quite still.Then they come out and dance for you.

You would go out and dance with them but you are chained every night to the centre pole of the hut.You believe the mountains dance, don't you, Charlie?"

"I contradict no traveller's tales," said Grandemont, with a smile.

Mr.Jack laughed loudly.He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper.

"You are a fool to believe it," he went on."They don't really advance.It's the fever in your head.It's the hard work and the bad water that does it.You are sick for weeks, and there is no medicine.