The King in Yellow

  V

  The month passed quickly for Hastings, and left few definite impressionsafter it. It did leave some, however. One was a painful impression ofmeeting Mr. Bladen on the Boulevard des Capucines in company with a verypronounced young person whose laugh dismayed him, and when at last heescaped from the cafe where Mr. Bladen had hauled him to join them in a_bock_ he felt as if the whole boulevard was looking at him, and judginghim by his company. Later, an instinctive conviction regarding the youngperson with Mr. Bladen sent the hot blood into his cheek, and he returnedto the pension in such a miserable state of mind that Miss Byng wasalarmed and advised him to conquer his homesickness at once.

  Another impression was equally vivid. One Saturday morning, feelinglonely, his wanderings about the city brought him to the Gare St. Lazare.It was early for breakfast, but he entered the Hotel Terminus and took atable near the window. As he wheeled about to give his order, a manpassing rapidly along the aisle collided with his head, and looking up toreceive the expected apology, he was met instead by a slap on the shoulderand a hearty, "What the deuce are you doing here, old chap?" It wasRowden, who seized him and told him to come along. So, mildly protesting,he was ushered into a private dining-room where Clifford, rather red,jumped up from the table and welcomed him with a startled air which wassoftened by the unaffected glee of Rowden and the extreme courtesy ofElliott. The latter presented him to three bewitching girls who welcomedhim so charmingly and seconded Rowden in his demand that Hastings shouldmake one of the party, that he consented at once. While Elliott brieflyoutlined the projected excursion to La Roche, Hastings delightedly ate hisomelet, and returned the smiles of encouragement from Cecile and Coletteand Jacqueline. Meantime Clifford in a bland whisper was telling Rowdenwhat an ass he was. Poor Rowden looked miserable until Elliott, divininghow affairs were turning, frowned on Clifford and found a moment to letRowden know that they were all going to make the best of it.

  "You shut up," he observed to Clifford, "it's fate, and that settles it."

  "It's Rowden, and that settles it," murmured Clifford, concealing a grin.For after all he was not Hastings' wet nurse. So it came about that thetrain which left the Gare St. Lazare at 9.15 a.m. stopped a moment in itscareer towards Havre and deposited at the red-roofed station of La Roche amerry party, armed with sunshades, trout-rods, and one cane, carried bythe non-combatant, Hastings. Then, when they had established their camp ina grove of sycamores which bordered the little river Ept, Clifford, theacknowledged master of all that pertained to sportsmanship, took command.

  "You, Rowden," he said, "divide your flies with Elliott and keep an eye onhim or else he'll be trying to put on a float and sinker. Prevent him byforce from grubbing about for worms."

  Elliott protested, but was forced to smile in the general laugh.

  "You make me ill," he asserted; "do you think this is my first trout?"

  "I shall be delighted to see your first trout," said Clifford, and dodginga fly hook, hurled with intent to hit, proceeded to sort and equip threeslender rods destined to bring joy and fish to Cecil, Colette, andJacqueline. With perfect gravity he ornamented each line with four splitshot, a small hook, and a brilliant quill float.

  "_I_ shall never touch the worms," announced Cecile with a shudder.

  Jacqueline and Colette hastened to sustain her, and Hastings pleasantlyoffered to act in the capacity of general baiter and taker-off of fish.But Cecile, doubtless fascinated by the gaudy flies in Clifford's book,decided to accept lessons from him in the true art, and presentlydisappeared up the Ept with Clifford in tow.

  Elliott looked doubtfully at Colette.

  "I prefer gudgeons," said that damsel with decision, "and you and MonsieurRowden may go away when you please; may they not, Jacqueline?"

  "Certainly," responded Jacqueline.

  Elliott, undecided, examined his rod and reel.

  "You've got your reel on wrong side up," observed Rowden.

  Elliott wavered, and stole a glance at Colette.

  "I--I--have almost decided to--er--not to flip the flies about just now,"he began. "There's the pole that Cecile left--"

  "Don't call it a pole," corrected Rowden.

  "_Rod_, then," continued Elliott, and started off in the wake of the twogirls, but was promptly collared by Rowden.

  "No, you don't! Fancy a man fishing with a float and sinker when he has afly rod in his hand! You come along!"

  Where the placid little Ept flows down between its thickets to the Seine,a grassy bank shadows the haunt of the gudgeon, and on this bank satColette and Jacqueline and chattered and laughed and watched the swervingof the scarlet quills, while Hastings, his hat over his eyes, his head ona bank of moss, listened to their soft voices and gallantly unhooked thesmall and indignant gudgeon when a flash of a rod and a half-suppressedscream announced a catch. The sunlight filtered through the leafy thicketsawaking to song the forest birds. Magpies in spotless black and whiteflirted past, alighting near by with a hop and bound and twitch of thetail. Blue and white jays with rosy breasts shrieked through the trees,and a low-sailing hawk wheeled among the fields of ripening wheat, puttingto flight flocks of twittering hedge birds.

  Across the Seine a gull dropped on the water like a plume. The air waspure and still. Scarcely a leaf moved. Sounds from a distant farm camefaintly, the shrill cock-crow and dull baying. Now and then a steam-tugwith big raking smoke-pipe, bearing the name "Guepe 27," ploughed up theriver dragging its interminable train of barges, or a sailboat droppeddown with the current toward sleepy Rouen.

  A faint fresh odour of earth and water hung in the air, and through thesunlight, orange-tipped butterflies danced above the marsh grass, softvelvety butterflies flapped through the mossy woods.

  Hastings was thinking of Valentine. It was two o'clock when Elliottstrolled back, and frankly admitting that he had eluded Rowden, sat downbeside Colette and prepared to doze with satisfaction.

  "Where are your trout?" said Colette severely.

  "They still live," murmured Elliott, and went fast asleep.

  Rowden returned shortly after, and casting a scornful glance at theslumbering one, displayed three crimson-flecked trout.

  "And that," smiled Hastings lazily, "that is the holy end to which thefaithful plod,--the slaughter of these small fish with a bit of silk andfeather."

  Rowden disdained to answer him. Colette caught another gudgeon and awokeElliott, who protested and gazed about for the lunch baskets, as Cliffordand Cecile came up demanding instant refreshment. Cecile's skirts weresoaked, and her gloves torn, but she was happy, and Clifford, dragging outa two-pound trout, stood still to receive the applause of the company.

  "Where the deuce did you get that?" demanded Elliott.

  Cecile, wet and enthusiastic, recounted the battle, and then Cliffordeulogized her powers with the fly, and, in proof, produced from his creela defunct chub, which, he observed, just missed being a trout.

  They were all very happy at luncheon, and Hastings was voted "charming."He enjoyed it immensely,--only it seemed to him at moments that flirtationwent further in France than in Millbrook, Connecticut, and he thought thatCecile might be a little less enthusiastic about Clifford, that perhaps itwould be quite as well if Jacqueline sat further away from Rowden, andthat possibly Colette could have, for a moment at least, taken her eyesfrom Elliott's face. Still he enjoyed it--except when his thoughts driftedto Valentine, and then he felt that he was very far away from her. LaRoche is at least an hour and a half from Paris. It is also true that hefelt a happiness, a quick heart-beat when, at eight o'clock that night thetrain which bore them from La Roche rolled into the Gare St. Lazare and hewas once more in the city of Valentine.

  "Good-night," they said, pressing around him. "You must come with us nexttime!"

  He promised, and watched them, two by two, drift into the darkening city,and stood so long that, when again he raised his eyes, the vast Boulevardwas twinkling with gas-jets through which the electric lights stared likemoons.