"Look here," I added, going to a sofa which was strewn with papers, books, and other paraphernalia; "couldn't we put him here, and then go and see about the rooms? Such a young, tender child must not be carried about the passages, and the house is full of draughts."
I do not know what had so suddenly supplied me with this wisdom as to what was good for a "young, tender child," nor can I account for the sudden deep interest which possessed me. I dashed the things off the sofa, beat the dust from it, desired him to wait one moment while I rushed to my bed to ravish it of its pillow. Then with the sight of the bed (I was buying my experience) I knew that that, and not the sofa, was the place for the child, and said so.
"Put him here, do put him here!" I besought, earnestly. "He will sleep for a time here, won't he?"
"You are very good," said my visitor, hesitating a moment.
"Put him there!" said I, flushed with excitement, and with the hitherto unknown joy of being able to offer hospitality.
Courvoisier looked meditatively at me for a short time then laid the child upon the bed, and arranged the plaid around it as skillfully and as quickly as a woman would have done it.
"How clever he must be," I thought, looking at him with awe, and with little less awe contemplating the motionless child.
"Wouldn't you like something to put over him?" I asked, looking excitedly about. "I have an overcoat. I'll lend it you." And I was rushing off to fetch it, but he laughingly laid his hand upon my arm.
"Let him alone," said he; "he's all right."
"He won't fall off, will he?" I asked, anxiously.
"No; don't be alarmed. Now, if you will be so good, we will see about the rooms."
"Dare you leave him?" I asked, still with anxiety, and looking back as we went toward the door.
He closed the door, and we went down-stairs to seek the persons in authority. Courvoisier related his business and condition, and asked to see rooms. The woman hesitated when she heard there was a child.
"The child will never trouble you, madame," said he, quietly, but rather as if the patience of his look were forced.
"No, never!" I added, fervently. "I will answer for that, Frau Schmidt."
A quick glance, half gratitude, half amusement, shot from his eyes as the woman went on to say that she only took gentlemen lodgers, and could not do with ladies, children, and nurse-maids. They wanted so much attending to, and she did not profess to open her house to them.