The Black Robe | Page 5

driver took the road that led toward the High Town. I subordinated
my curiosity to my sense of politeness, and asked for news of his aunt's
health.
"She is seriously ill, poor soul," he said. "I am sorry I spoke so
petulantly and s o unfairly when we met at the club. The near prospect
of death has developed qualities in her nature which I ought to have
seen before this. No matter how it may be delayed, I will patiently wait
her time for the crossing to England."
So long as he believed himself to be in the right, he was, as to his
actions and opinions, one of the most obstinate men I ever met with.
But once let him be convinced that he was wrong, and he rushed into
the other extreme--became needlessly distrustful of himself, and
needlessly eager in seizing his opportunity of making atonement. In
this latter mood he was capable (with the best intentions) of committing
acts of the most childish imprudence. With some misgivings, I asked
how he had amused himself in my absence.
"I waited for you," he said, "till I lost all patience, and went out for a
walk. First, I thought of going to the beach, but the smell of the harbor
drove me back into the town; and there, oddly enough, I met with a
man, a certain Captain Peterkin, who had been a friend of mine at
college."
"A visitor to Boulogne?" I inquired.
"Not exactly."
"A resident?"
"Yes. The fact is, I lost sight of Peterkin when I left Oxford--and since
that time he seems to have drifted into difficulties. We had a long talk.
He is living here, he tells me, until his affairs are settled."
I needed no further enlightenment--Captain Peterkin stood as plainly
revealed to me as if I had known him for years. "Isn't it a little
imprudent," I said, "to renew your acquaintance with a man of that sort?
Couldn't you have passed him, with a bow?"

Bolnayne smiled uneasily. "I daresay you're right," he answered. "But,
remember, I had left my aunt, feeling ashamed of the unjust way in
which I had thought and spoken of her. How did I know that I mightn't
be wronging an old friend next, if I kept Peterkin at a distance? His
present position may be as much his misfortune, poor fellow, as his
fault. I was half inclined to pass him, as you say--but I distrusted my
own judgment. He held out his hand, and he was so glad to see me. It
can't be helped now. I shall be anxious to hear your opinion of him."
"Are we going to dine with Captain Peterkin?"
"Yes. I happened to mention that wretched dinner yesterday at our hotel.
He said, 'Come to my boarding-house. Out of Paris, there isn't such a
table d'hote in France.' I tried to get off it--not caring, as you know, to
go among strangers--I said I had a friend with me. He invited you most
cordially to accompany me. More excuses on my part only led to a
painful result. I hurt Peterkin's feelings. 'I'm down in the world,' he said,
'and I'm not fit company for you and your friends. I beg your pardon for
taking the liberty of inviting you!' He turned away with the tears in his
eyes. What could I do?"
I thought to myself, "You could have lent him five pounds, and got rid
of his invitation without the slightest difficulty." If I had returned in
reasonable time to go out with Romayne, we might not have met the
captain--or, if we had met him, my presence would have prevented the
confidential talk and the invitation that followed. I felt I was to
blame--and yet, how could I help it? It was useless to remonstrate: the
mischief was done.
We left the Old Town on our right hand, and drove on, past a little
colony of suburban villas, to a house standing by itself, surrounded by a
stone wall. As we crossed the front garden on our way to the door, I
noticed against the side of the house two kennels, inhabited by two
large watch-dogs. Was the proprietor afraid of thieves?
III.
THE moment we were introduced to the drawing-room, my suspicions
of the company we were likely to meet with were fully confirmed.
"Cards, billiards, and betting"--there was the inscription legibly written
on the manner and appearance of Captain Peterkin. The bright-eyed
yellow old lady who kept the boarding-house would have been worth
five thousand pounds in jewelry alone, if the ornaments which

profusely covered her had been genuine precious stones. The younger
ladies present had their cheeks as highly rouged and their eyelids as
elaborately penciled in black as if they were going on