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Page 5
Perhaps Fitzgerald had noticed it when Breitmann came in. The latter's
velvet collar was worn; there was a suspicious gloss at the elbows; the
cuff buttons were of cheap metal; his fingers were without rings. But
the American readily understood. There are lean years and fat years in
journalism, and he himself had known them. For the present this man
was a little down on his luck; that was all.
A party came in and took the near table. There were four; two elderly
men, an elderly woman, and a girl. Fitzgerald, as he side-glanced, was
afforded a shiver of pleasure. He recognized the girl. It was she who
had given the flowers to the veteran.
"That is a remarkably fine young woman," said Breitmann, echoing
Fitzgerald's thought.
The waiter opened the champagne.
"Yes. I saw her give some violets this afternoon to an old soldier in
the tomb. It was a pretty scene."
"Well," said Breitmann, raising his glass, "a pretty woman and a
bottle!"
It was the first jarring note, and Fitzgerald frowned.
"Pardon me," added Breitmann, observing the impression he had made,
smiling, and when he smiled the student slashes in his cheeks weren't
so noticeable. "What I should have said is, a good woman and a good
bottle. For what greater delight than to sip a rare vintage with a
woman of beauty and intellect opposite? One glass is enough to loose
her laughter, her wit, her charm. Bah! A man who knows how to drink
his wine, a woman who knows when to laugh, a story-teller who stops
when his point is told; these trifles add a little color as we pass.
Will you drink to my success?"
"In what?" with Yankee caution.
"In whatever the future sees fit to place under my hand."
"With pleasure! And by the same token you will wish me the same?"
"Gladly!"
Their glasses touched lightly; and then their glances, drawn by some
occult force, half-circled till they paused on the face of the girl,
who, perhaps compelled by the same invisible power, had leveled her
eyes in their direction. With well-bred calm her interest returned to
her companions, and the incident was, to all outward sign, closed.
Whatever took place behind that beautiful but indifferent mask no one
else ever learned; but simultaneously in the minds of these two
adventurers--and surely, to call a man an adventurer does not
necessarily imply that he is a _chevalier d'industrie_--a thought,
tinged with regret and loneliness, was born; to have and to hold a maid
like that. Love at first sight is the false metal sometimes offered by
poets as gold, in quatrains, distiches, verses, and stanzas, tolerated
because of the license which allows them to give passing interest the
name of love. If these two men thought of love it was only as
bystanders, witnessing the pomp and panoply--favored phrase!--of Venus
and her court from a curbstone, might have thought of it. Doubtless
they had had an affair here and there, over the broad face of the
world, but there had never been any barbs on the arrows, thus easily
plucked out.
"Sometimes, knowing that I shall never be rich, I have desired a
title," remarked Fitzgerald humorously.
"And what would you do with it?" curiously.
"Oh, I'd use it against porters, and waiters, and officials. There's
nothing like it. I have observed a good deal. It has a magic sound,
like Orpheus' lyre; the stiffest back becomes supine at the first
twinkle of it."
"I should like to travel with you, Mr. Fitzgerald," said Breitmann
musingly. "You would be good company. Some day, perhaps, I'll try
your prescription; but I'm only a poor devil of a homeless, landless
baron."
Fitzgerald sat up. "You surprise me."
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