CHAPTER VII.
FRIEZECOAT AT HOME.
The morning after Captain Chauvin had admitted the young Irishman intohis confidences was wet and gloomy. At half-past ten a.m. O'Hara wasseated in front of his dressing-table engaged in an unpleasant operationentailed by the usages of modern society, that of shaving himself. Hewore moustaches and mouche, but fashion in the French capitalnecessitated the removal of the whiskers, and, razor in hand, skimmingover a surface of lathered skin, he peered into the toilet-glass, when aloud tap resounded on the panel of the door. Before he had time to makeanswer the lock was turned, the door thrown open, and the applicant foradmittance had entered with heavy step. O'Hara turned round and staredat him.
It was the very man whom he had been wishing to see, the stranger, whosename was not Beelzebub, clad in the same long frieze coat, the skirts ofwhich were met by spatterdashes, which totally shut out his trousersfrom view. His boots were covered with mud, his face perspiring fromexercise; he took off his hat and sat down abruptly by the table, onwhich a pile of loose journals, letters, and other literary matter wasstrewn.
'Welcome,' said the interrupted shaver with cheerfulness (although hehad gashed his jaw), advancing towards his visitor.
'Stay where you are, Mr. Manus O'Hara, and finish your shaving. Passingby this way--thought I'd call in to see you.'
O'Hara regarded him with a broad stare of wonderment. How had thisstranger found out his name and lodging? His looks must have conveyedthe questions.
'How do I know your name and where to find you? you would ask,' said thestranger. 'Spiritual clairvoyance. Shave yourself.'
O'Hara smiled, said nothing, but determined to deal with the humorist inhis own coin, and resumed his position before the glass.
Friezecoat commenced fumbling amid the letters and papers on the table.O'Hara saw the movement reflected in the mirror, turned round, and saidcalmly:
'There are private documents there.'
'You have no right to leave them exposed,' retorted the strangerimperturbably.
'Most of my visitors are gentlemen; at least, in their habits,' saidO'Hara with quiet irony.
'Not all,' said the stranger as quietly.
'So I see.'
'For instance, I'm not a gentleman--don't want to be one,' said thestranger. 'I'm content to be a man. Finish your shaving.'
O'Hara looked at him, undecided whether to lose temper or laugh;finally, again turned to the glass and resumed the operation on hisbeard with a studious show of deliberateness. He could see, however,with pleasure, in the reflection of the table, that the stranger had notchosen to meddle a second time with the loose manuscripts before him.After removing the last wanton hair, disburdening his jaws of theaccumulated lather, wiping his cheek with the towel, softly dusting theirritated flesh with powder, carefully drying the razor and returning itto its case, he turned round in his seat, faced his whimsical visitor,and said deliberately:
'I have finished.'
'Come away,' said the stranger, and he descended the stairs. 'You mustaccompany me to the wild beast's den. I have something to say to you.'
O'Hara followed him; they entered a _voiture_, and the stranger gave theword, to the Rue des Foss?s St. Victor. The street which was calledLoustarol in the revolutionary times corresponds with the Rue des Foss?sSt. Victor of to-day. It lies in the thick network of schools behindthe church of St. Etienne du Mont, between the thoroughfares named inhonour of the great French mathematician, D?scartes, and the greatSwedish naturalist, Linn?us. Its site was formerly occupied by thecloisters of Philippe Auguste, and here stood the convent of _Les DamesAnglaises_ and the Scotch College. Even still there is a scholarlysedateness in the neighbourhood. The house to which they were driven wasentered by a long-walled avenue with prison-like wickets at intervals,ending in an open iron gate, which permitted a view of a bloomingflower-garden. To the left, just before reaching this gate, was a doorpainted _Pension Bourgeoise_, the sort of establishment in Paris whichcorresponds with our boarding-house. Friezecoat raised the latch and ledin his companion.
A narrow courtyard, weakly vines trained along the wall on one side anda range of rooms destined for lodgers on the other, conducted to thePension, which was a tall, narrow house, surmounted by a belvedere. Afew noisy fowls in a preternatural state of activity promenaded theyard; a lazy dog, preternaturally lazy, too lazy even to bark, laycurled in a corner. But the grand feature of the pension was aone-storied wooden house, such as are frequently to be met with inSwitzerland, containing two bedrooms underneath and two in the upperfloor, which was approached by a staircase from the outside, prolongedinto a balcony, which ran in front of the structure under the shelter ofthe over-hanging eaves. Friezecoat lived in this ch?let. As they drewnear, the cock, at the van of his plumed seraglio, crowed like a proudFrench cock; the dog moved his head and gave an indolent growl.
'Let us go aloft,' said Friezecoat, stepping on the staircase.
'I pay for these two rooms on the top, I tenant but one,' continued he;'I have the staircase to myself, so that I can be isolated when I like.'
'You are comfortably situated,' said O'Hara, glancing round the roominto which they had entered, which was a square cleanly-paperedbed-chamber plainly furnished. A timepiece ticked on the mantel-shelfunder a neat mirror, a secretaire stood between it and the window, whichwas furnished with _persiennes_, adding to the general appearance ofrusticity. A book-case, over which was disposed a trophy of pistols,foils, and boxing-gloves, and having on either side prints of Protais'celebrated sketches of the Chasseurs de Vincennes at work, _Avantl'Attaque_ and _Apr?s le Combat_, was fixed against the wall directlyopposite the door. A fauteuil, four rush-bottomed chairs, and a commodecompleted the inventory of the furniture. A screened alcove concealedthe bed, and a nook in the same side of the room was cut off by apartition and apportioned to the services of ablution.
'The view is not splendid,' said the stranger, seating himself in thefauteuil and motioning O'Hara to a rush-bottomed chair: 'that wall withthe high trellis confines it; outside is the playground of some sort ofan institution. I like to hear the buzz of the boys amusing themselves;it brings back my youth; then the green trees, as I see them wavingthrough the lattice, call up the country. Altogether,' with a tone ofenthusiasm in his voice, 'I like the shanty; it's a bit of Switzerlandin this Paris.'
'You go in for muscularity,' hinted O'Hara, glancing at the trophy ofarms.
'I have found it necessary in my career,' replied the stranger quietly.'Smoke?'
'Yes.'
The stranger brought out a superbly-mounted Turkish pipe from a drawer,and handed it to his visitor. 'Will you try hasheesh?'
O'Hara declined.
'I like it now and again. It lifts me into an ideal world--makes meforget the real. Drink?'
O'Hara accepted.
The stranger produced a dust-covered bottle with a yellow seal from thesame drawer as before, and placed it before his companion. 'Comes fromPfungst Brothers,' was the only recommendation he ventured; but thatwas enough. The bottle was fitted with a false neck, to which a siphon,closing hermetically, was attached, so that the champagne could besipped glass by glass, if desired, without loss of first freshness andthat titillating effervescence which makes its charm.
O'Hara drank.
'Drink again. 'Twill sweep the cobwebs from your throat.'
'Do you ever feel lonely?' demanded Friezecoat, after a pause.
'Yes, sometimes very much. Like most Irishmen, I am changeful in mymoods; to-day I find myself in the height of good spirits, to-morrow inthe lowest depths of depression.'
'That is because you are not in your native land--have no home here--nointerior. It is not well to be alone.'
The pair continued smoking. They smoked as connoisseurs, enjoying eachparticular puff, following it with dreamy eyes as it ascended, until itlost itself in gradually widening rings of lessening haze, and theyembraced the stems of their pipes for a new pull with gloating lips.
'D
o you like the furniture of this room?' abruptly inquired thestranger.
'Yes,' replied O'Hara; 'rich, not gaudy, as Shakespeare says.'
'See any want?'
'Not particularly.'
'Ah! there is one piece of furniture particularly wanting,' said thestranger, with the manner of a man who endeavours to master bashfulnessby an exaggerated show of good-humoured, rude self-possession.
'What's that?'
'A wife!'
O'Hara turned his eyes from the pipe to Friezecoat, and Friezecoat--thegruff, blunt-mannered, muscularly-educated Friezecoat--was positivelyembarrassed, blushed like a callow boy.
'Were you ever in love?' said Friezecoat, probably with a sly view ofdiverting the enemy's attention by a movement in flank.
The answer was an involuntary sigh.
'Is that it? Do you believe in love at first sight?'
'I believe in anything where love exists; it makes fools of the wisestof us.'
'That's right; and now that the cat's out of the bag I may as well tellyou that I have fallen in love at first sight, and that's what I have tosay to you.'
O'Hara removed his pipe, and gave a long, low, significant whistle,which reached even unto the dog in the yard, and stimulated him into aninquisitive yelp, which might have been heard had it not been stifled inits birth.
'Who has glamoured you--a Frenchwoman?'
'Yes; Chauvin's grand-daughter.'
'The little Song-bird?'
'The same; and I intend to go to-morrow--no, perhaps this very night, tomake a formal proposal for her hand to the old soldier.'
'In that instance, I believe, I am justified in telling you what I knowof her history, as Captain Chauvin told it to me himself,' said O'Hara,laying down his pipe. Simply and briefly he proceeded to narrate to hiscompanion the story which had been confided to him. 'So now you are thebest judge,' he finished, 'whether you are justified in offering yourhand to the daughter of a--a--to a woman who will bring a bend sinisterto your escutcheon.'
'Who will bring cheerfulness to my fireside, you meant to say, sir,'said Friezecoat, with a certain tone of displeasure in his voice. 'Bendsinister! There's your virtuous, charitable world, that would exactpenalty of an innocent child for the sin of a progenitor who wasmouldered in his tomb before she was born. Bend sinister be blowed!Thank God, I'm burdened with no escutcheon to put it on. There's thecoat of arms of the O'Hoolohan Roe,' stretching out his open palm, 'andthere are its supporters,' pointing to the trophy and opening a drawer,filled with thick rouleaux of yellow Napoleons--'steel on one side andgold on the other.'
After finishing the bottle in conjunction, they parted in goodfellowship. We were near forgetting that O'Hara mentioned somethingabout paying one hundred francs for which he was indebted, but thedemocrat thrust back the purse which was produced, and said, 'Wheneverit suits you;' and as it didn't happen just then to suit the aristocrat,he returned the purse unopened to his pocket. There was not a syllablemore of argument, if we except a friendly quotation which Friezecoatsent as a parting shot from his balcony to his retiring friend: 'Hallo!Mr. O'Hara--
'When Adam dolve, and Eve span, Who was then the gentleman?'
followed by a loud laugh.
'The O'Hoolohan Roe!' said O'Hara to himself, as he lingered at the gateof the Pension; 'that's what he called himself. Who the deuce can theO'Hoolohan Roe be? I have heard of the M'Carthy More, of the O'ConorDon, and of the O'Donoghue of the Glens; but never of him before.'
In the interests of our readers, we, too, must endeavour to find out whothe O'Hoolohan Roe really was.