Affair in Araby | Page 9

permit himself
to enter deeply; he was content to know that fame and prosperity were
returning with a rush to the Grand Hôtel Royal. Already there had been
a score of applicants for rooms; the corridors were again assuming that
air of liveliness and gaiety which had characterised them in those
golden days when the August Prince of Zeit-Zeit had been his annual
guest. He was no longer ashamed to meet the proprietor of the Grand
Hôtel Splendide face to face in the full day; he was a different person
from the despairing individual of the day before; in a word, he was no
longer in ruins! He had been restored, as so many ruins are, by the hand
of an American!
At this moment he held the centre of the stage, and it was easy to read
in his bearing the consciousness that he deserved the limelight. A strip
of crimson carpet had been stretched across the sand to the very water's

edge; on either side of it a dozen decorous footmen were aligned, and
between them Monsieur Pelletan proudly marched, his head in air, his
back very straight, preceding a big, hooded invalid's chair.
Immediately a murmur arose.
"He is ill then!"
"Why the chair?"
"He is coming to take the baths."
The murmur no doubt penetrated to the ears of the little Alsatian, but he
made no sign. He was aware that the envious eyes of the proprietor of
the Grand Hôtel Splendide were upon him; he would show him that
here was a guest more majestic, more worthy of honour than even the
Prince of Zeit-Zeit!--a Highness, in short, so extraordinary as to cause
that August personage to resemble, in some incomprehensible way, the
sum of one franc fifty centimes! Otherwise there would have been no
carpet, for the sand was hard and dry. Otherwise, too, perhaps,
Monsieur Pelletan would have been content to permit his major-domo
to represent him at the water's edge, for he was not accustomed to
exposing himself thus to the sharp airs of the morning. His fat red
cheeks and plump nose were turning a dull purple--ah, how good would
a glass of cognac taste!--but he bore this discomfort with the greatest
fortitude, for, after all, an occasion such as this was worth some
sacrifice.
And, be it said, his was not the only purple nose in evidence. There
were many men who stared straight before them, daring to look neither
to the right nor left; and many women who were thankful for the heavy
veils they had had the forethought to put on. Even rouge, however
cunningly applied, cannot hide certain ugly lines in the face in the clear,
cruel light of the morning!
Strange how the same breeze will give to some cheeks a dull
repulsiveness and to others an entrancing glow! A word to lovers:
Would you test your mistress's blood and spirit, persuade her to a walk

some sharp day in winter; or, if she will not be persuaded, use a little
artifice. Then, after wind and frost have had their will of her for half an
hour, take a look at her. Are her cheeks glowing, are her eyes bright, is
she having a good time? If not, take heed!
There were four cheeks upon the beach at Weet-sur-Mer that morning
glowing as I would have your true love's glow; drawing men's eyes and
women's, too--the one in admiration, the other in envy. Yes, envy!
though more than one shivering fair spoke a low, slurring word about
"those coarse Americans!"
Both Pelletan and the notary had been careful to respect Rushford's
wish that his connection with the hotel be kept to themselves; in all
their boastings, rejoicings, explanations, his name had not been
whispered; and not even to his daughters had that gentleman confided
the secret of his plan to get the excitement he had craved so badly. He
had feared, perhaps, that they would not enter thoroughly into the spirit
of the thing--women, even American women, are sometimes strangely
deficient in the sense of humour. But they had both been struck by their
host's impressive obsequiousness--a very orgasm of servility, which
Pelletan had hitherto reserved for personages of the blood royal.
"What ails the man?" Susie had asked at dinner the night before, her
eyes on Monsieur Pelletan's writhing form. "He seems to have the
stomach-ache."
"He is probably fishing for a tip," said Nell. "It seems to me that I've
seen those symptoms before in a less violent form."
"Don't you tip him," commanded their father. "I'll attend to all that,"
and he beckoned to Pelletan with his finger and whispered a rapid
sentence in his ear.
"What did you say to him, dad?" inquired Sue, gazing in some
astonishment after their host's retreating coat-tails.
"I