The Inn at the Red Oak | Page 8

horse and sleigh, Dan returned. The Marquis promptly
reminded him of the suggestion that he should be taken over the Inn. It
seemed to Dan an uninteresting way to entertain his guest and the
morning was a busy one. However, he promised to be ready at eleven
o'clock to show the Marquis all there was in the old house.

As Dan went about the offices and stables, performing himself much of
the work that in prosperous times fell to grooms and hostlers, he found
himself thinking about his new guest. Dan knew enough of French
history to be aware there were frequent occasions in France when
partisans of the various factions, royalist, imperialist, or republican,
found it best to expatriate themselves. He knew that in times past many
of the most distinguished exiles had found asylum in America. But at
the present, he understood, King Louis Philippe, was reigning quietly at
the Tuileries and, moreover, the Marquis de Boisdhyver, mysterious as
he was, did not suggest the political adventurer of whom Dan as a boy
had heard his parents tell such extraordinary tales. In the few years
immediately after the final fall of the great Bonaparte there had been an
influx of imperialistic supporters in America, some of whom had even
found their way to Monday Port and Deal. One of these, Dan
remembered, had stayed for some months in '14 or '15 at the Inn at the
Red Oak, and it was he whom Tom had recalled the night before as
having told them stories of his adventurous exploits in the wars of the
Little Corporal. But it was too long after Napoleon's fall to connect his
present guest with the imperial exiles. He could imagine no ulterior
reason for the Marquis's coming and was inclined to put it down as the
caprice of an old restless gentleman who had a genuine mania for
solitude. Of solitude, certainly, he was apt to get his fill at the Inn at the
Red Oak.
At eleven o'clock he returned to keep his appointment. He found the
Marquis established at a small table in the bar by an east window, from
which was obtained a view of the Cove, of the sand-dunes along the
Neck, and of the open sea beyond. A writing-desk was on the table, ink
and quills had been provided, a number of books and papers were
strewn about, and Monsieur de Boisdhyver was apparently busy with
his correspondence.
"Enchanted" he exclaimed, as he pulled out a great gold watch.
"Punctual. I find another virtue, monsieur, in a character to which I
have already had so much reason to pay my compliments. I trust I do
not trespass upon your more important duties." As he spoke, he rapidly
swept the papers into the writing-desk, closed and locked it, and

carefully placed the tiny golden key into the pocket of his
gayly-embroidered waistcoat.
"Not at all," Dan replied courteously, "I shall be glad to show you
about. But I fear you will find it cold and dismal, for the greater part of
the house is seldom used or even entered."
"I bring my cloak," said the Marquis. "Interest will give me warmth.
What I have already seen of the Inn at the Red Oak is so charming, that
I doubt not there is much more to delight one. I imagine, monsieur,
how gay must have been this place once."
He took his great cloak from the peg near the fire where it had been
hung the night before to dry wrapped himself snugly in it; and then,
with a little bow, preceded Dan into the cold and draughty corridor that
opened from the bar into the older part of the house.
This hallway extended fifty or sixty feet to the north wall of the main
part of the inn whence a large window at the turn of a flight of stairs
gave light. On the right, extending the same distance as the hall itself,
was a great room known as the Red Drawing-room, into which Dan
first showed the Marquis. This room had not been used since father's
death four or five years before, and for a long time previous to that only
on the rare occasions when a county gathering of some sort was held at
the inn. It had been furnished in good taste and style in colonial days,
but was now dilapidated and musty. The heavy red damask curtains
were drawn before the windows, and the room was dark and cheerless.
Dan admitted the dazzling light of the sun; but the Marquis only
shivered and seemed anxious to pass quickly on.
"You see, sir," observed the young landlord, "it is dismal enough."
"Mais oui--mais oui," exclaimed the Marquis.
At the foot of the stairway the corridor turned at right