In Madeira Place | Page 9

cane, dragging his left foot sidewise behind him, with something of the air of an old faithful officer who has been deprived of his sword.
He had not been gone more than an hour, when the door opened again, and Carron looked in. Seeing that I was alone, he closed the door and walked very slowly toward my desk,--erect, demure, impassive, looking straight forward and not at me, with an air as if he were bearing a candle in high mass, intoning, as he came, a passage from the Psalms: "Je me ré-jouirai; je partagerai Sichem, et je mesurerai la vallée de Succoth. Galaad sera à moi, Manassé sera à moi.... Moab sera le bassin où je me laverai et je jetterai mon soulier sur édom.... Qui est-ce qui me conduira dans la ville forte? Qui est-ce qui me conduira jusquen édom?" (I will rejoice; I will divide Shechem and mete out the valley of Succoth. Gilead is mine; Ma-nasseh is mine.... Moab is my washpot; over Edom will I cast out my shoe.... Who will bring me into the strong city? Who will lead me into Edom?)
Carron propounded the closing inquiry with great unction; his manner expressed entire confidence that some one would be found to lead him into the strong city, to lead him into Edom.
I had lost something of my interest in Carron since I had heard the story of his Parisian exploits; but I could not help being amused at his manner. It portended something. He made no disclosure, however. Whatever he had to tell, he went away without telling it, contenting himself for the present with intimating by his triumphal manner that great good fortune was in the air.
On Saturday afternoon, as I was about closing my desk,--a little earlier than usual, for it was a most tempting late September day, and the waves of the harbor, which I could just see from my office window, called loudly to me,--Sorel appeared. I held out my hand, but he affected not to see it, and he sat down without a word. He was plainly disturbed and somewhat excited.
Of course I knew that it was his old friend's misfortune which weighed upon him; he was proud and fond of Fidèle.
I seated myself, and waited for him to speak. In a moment he began, with a low, hard laugh: "Semble que notre bon Fidèle a sa démission: you know,--our Fidèle got bounced!"
Yes, I said, Fidèle had told me so, and I was very sorry to hear it.
"Evidemment" (this in a tone of irony) "il faut un homme plus juste, plus loyale, que le pauvre Fidèle! (You know,--they got to 'ave one more honester man!) Bien! You know who goin' 'ave 'is place?"
I shook my head.
Sorel laid down his hat, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. Then he went on, no longer speaking in French and then translating,--his usual concession to my supposed desires,--but mostly now in quasi-English: "Mais, you thing this great gouvernement wan' hones' men work for her, n'est-ce pas?"
"The government ought to have the most honest men," I said.
"Bien. Now you thing the gouvernement boun' to 'ave some men w'at mos' know the business, n'est-ce pas?"
"It ought to have them."
Sorel wiped his brow again. "Now, w'ich you thing the mos' honestes' man,--Fidèle, or-- Carron? W'ich you thing know the business bes',--Fidèle, w'at been there, or Carron, w'at ain' been there?"
"Fidèle, of course."
"Then tell me, w'at for they bounce' our Fidèle, and let Carron got 'is place?" and he burst into a harsh, resonant, contemptuous laugh. In a moment he resumed: "Now," he said, "I only got one more thing to ax you," and taking his felt hat in his hands, he held it on his knees, before him, and stooping a little forward, eyed me closely: "You know w'at we talk sometimes, you an' me, 'bout our Frensh république--some Orléanistes, some Légitimistes, some Bonapartistes? You merember 'ow we talk, you and me?"
I nodded,
"We ain' got no Orléanistes, no Bonapartistes' ici, in this gouvernement, n'est-ce pas?"
I intimated that I had never met any.
"Now," he proceeded, with an increased bitterness in his tone and his hard smile, "I use' thing you one good frien' to me, mais, you been makin' fool of me all that time!"
"You don't think any such thing," I said.
"You know," he went on, "who bounce our Fidèle?"
"No."
Sorel received my reply with a low, incredulous laugh. Then he laid his hat down on the floor, drew his chair closer, held out his finger, and, with the air of one who shows another that he knows his secret he demanded:--
"Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un 'Boss'?"
I sat silent for a moment, looking at him, not knowing just what to say.
"Mais," he went on, "all the Américains" (they were chiefly Irish) "roun' my 'ouse been tellin' me, long time,