N August there was no place in Freyr so cool as the terrace of the Hôtel d'ltalie et d'Angleterre. Only when the breeze lifted the leaves of its closely woven roof of vines could a few flecks of sunshine find their way to the gravel below. At the dinner hour the tables in the arbors next the railing along the river wall were always in demand, for there one could see the lights on the bridge dancing in the water-mirror and the fainter reflections from the windows of the château in the background. Even at midday, when the morning breeze had died away and the river had settled into sleep, one often had to wait for some old habitué lingering persistently over his coffee and cognac. Something in the lapping of the little waves against the foot of the wall and the shimmer under the willows that fringed the meadows rendered the busiest indifferent to the flight of time.
Under such circumstances it was no wonder that M. Achille, the proprietor, pictured to himself with satisfaction the deserted tables of the Café de la Régence in the hot, dusty square. In winter, however, the Hotel d'ltalie et d'Angleterre retreated into itself like a snail, and the Café de la Régence had its revenge.
On this particular morning the garden was almost deserted. In one of the arbors an officer and his wife were finishing their early breakfast. Beyond, quite hidden by the screen of leaves, a priest was sitting, sipping a glass of sugared water.
It was the hour when M. Achille made his rounds inspecting the arrangement of the tables, moving here a napkin, there a menu, on the white cloths, making sure, like a good general, that all was ready for the assault of noon.
Only in this quiet morning hour did the Abbé d'Arlot permit himself the luxury of the terrace at the price of his glass of sugared water. From his own little garden, inclosed as it was by high walls, he loved to escape from time to time to sit beside this river flowing out from the stillness of Freyr to great cities and the sea. Perhaps in some measure it symbolized for him the life of the race, or even his own. For time was when it ran joyous and free, forcing its way through the hill barriers as in olden days the northern hordes had forced their way through its valley to southern lands. Tamed now, it ran, obedient, between the stone quays of the sleepy town, by the prim rows of clipped willows as little free to bud at will as the river to change its course. Only in the eddies under the black rock of the château was there any sign of revolt or discontent. If these existed in the abbé's heart, they were not visible on his placid face as he sat this August morning, forgetting in the call of the river the open book on his knee. Now and then a voice from the adjoining arbor roused him from his reverie, and he lifted his head, listening for a moment, as if recalling vaguely something once familiar.
"He is abominable, your Minister!" The clear, insistent voice seemed to quicken his memory, for a bright smile illuminated his thin face. Then, lest he should become an unwilling listener, he changed his seat.
Crumbling M. Achille's bread to the minnows at the foot of the wall, her face reflected in the water, her shoes projecting through the railing, the author of this explosion had clearly reached the limit of self-restraint. From time to time she threw a crust at the minnows with an energy which scattered them in a flurry of fear. She had come with her husband to spend his month's leave of absence in the quiet of Freyr, and he had just received a telegram from the War Office summoning him to Paris. What for? Were they going to send him away again? Such a procedure, after three years of separation, filled her with indignation. Would they never allow her little girl to become acquainted with her father? And in an hour he would be gone!
"Abominable!" she repeated, "and unjust."
At this reiterated denunciation her companion, who, having finished the of the "Écho de Paris," was endeavoring to extract a last crumb of interest from the advertisements, laid down his paper.
"Be a little reasonable, Diane. How can you say a thing is unjust of which you know nothing? " The blue eyes, following the retreating minnows, smiled. Raoul was so logical! "After I have seen the Minister we shall know, and I will telegraph you to-morrow. "
"To-morrow, to-morrow! I am tired of to-morrow. Three years of it is quite enough. I want to-day."
"Well, we shall have had half of it at all events," said the captain, who was apt to be literal as well as logical.
"And I want to-day to-morrow, too. Please tell that to your Minister."