Indian Summer

  XII

  In his room Colville was devouring as best he might the chagrin withwhich he had come away from Palazzo Pinti, while he packed his trunk fordeparture. Now that the thing was over, the worst was past. Again heobserved that his emotions had no longer the continuity that theemotions of his youth possessed. As he remembered, a painful or pleasantimpression used to last indefinitely; but here he was with thishumiliating affair hot in his mind, shrugging his shoulders with a senseof relief, almost a sense of escape. Does the soul really wear out withthe body? The question flitted across his mind as he took down a pair oftrousers, and noticed that they were considerably frayed about the feet;he determined to give them to Paolo, and this reminded him to ring forPaolo, and send word to the office that he was going to take the eveningtrain for Rome.

  He went on packing, and putting away with the different garments theunpleasant thoughts that he knew he should be sure to unpack with themin Rome; but they would then have less poignancy.

  For the present he was doing the best he could, and he was not makingany sort of pretences. When his trunk was locked he kindled himself afire, and sat down before it to think of Imogene. He began with her, butpresently it seemed to be Mrs. Bowen that he was thinking of; then heknew he was dropping off to sleep by the manner in which their two ideasmixed. The fatigues and excitements of the week had been great, but hewould not give way; it was too disgraceful.

  Some one rapped at his door. He called out "_Avanti_!" and he would havebeen less surprised to see either of those ladies than Paolo with theaccount he had ordered to be made out. It was a long, pendulous,minutely itemed affair, such as the traveller's recklessness in candlesand firewood comes to in the books of the Continental landlord, and italmost swept the floor when its volume was unrolled. But it was not thesum-total that dismayed Colville when he glanced at the final figure;that, indeed, was not so very great, with all the items; it was theconviction, suddenly flashing upon him, that he had not money enough byhim to pay it. His watch, held close to the fire, told him that it wasfive o'clock; the banks had been closed an hour, and this was Saturdayafternoon.

  The squalid accident had all the effect of intention, as he viewed itfrom without himself, and considered that the money ought to have beenthe first thing in his thoughts after he determined to go away. He mustget the money somehow, and be off to Rome by the seven o'clock train. Awhimsical suggestion, which was so good a bit of irony that it made himsmile, flashed across him: he might borrow it of Mrs. Bowen. She was, infact, the only person in Florence with whom he was at all on borrowingterms, and a sad sense of the sweetness of her lost friendship followedupon the antic notion. No; for once he could not go to Mrs. Bowen. Herecollected now the many pleasant talks they had had together,confidential in virtue of their old acquaintance, and harmlesslyintimate in many things. He recalled how, when he was feeling dull fromthe Florentine air, she had told him to take a little quinine, and hehad found immediate advantage in it. These memories did (not) strike him asgrotesque or ludicrous; he only felt their pathos. He was ashamed evento seem in anywise recreant further. If she should ever hear that he hadlingered for thirty-six hours in Florence after he had told her he wasgoing away, what could she think but that he had repented his decision?He determined to go down to the office of the hotel, and see if he couldnot make some arrangement with the landlord. It would be extremelydistasteful, but his ample letter of credit would be at least a voucherof his final ability to pay. As a desperate resort he could go and tryto get the money of Mr. Waters.

  He put on his coat and hat, and opened the door to some one who was justin act to knock at it, and whom he struck against in the obscurity.

  "I beg your pardon," said the visitor.

  "Mr. Waters! Is it possible?" cried Colville, feeling something fatefulin the chance. "I was just going to see you."

  "I'm fortunate in meeting you, then. Shall we go to my room?" he asked,at a hesitation in Colville's manner.

  "No, no," said the latter; "come in here." He led the way back into hisroom, and struck a match to light the candles on his chimney. Their dimrays fell upon the disorder his packing had left. "You must excuse thelook of things," he said. "The fact is, I'm just going away. I'm goingto Rome at seven o'clock."

  "Isn't this rather sudden?" asked the minister, with less excitementthan the fact might perhaps have been expected to create in a friend. "Ithought you intended to pass the winter in Florence."

  "Yes, I did--sit down, please--but I find myself obliged to cut my stayshort. Won't you take off your coat?" he asked, taking off his own.

  "Thank you; I've formed the habit of keeping it on indoors," said Mr.Waters. "And I oughtn't to stay long, if you're to be off so soon."

  Colville gave a very uncomfortable laugh. "Why, the fact is, I'm not offso very soon unless you help me."

  "Ah?" returned the old gentleman, with polite interest.

  "Yes, I find myself in the absurd position of a man who has reckonedwithout his host. I have made all my plans for going, and have had myhotel bill sent to me in pursuance of that idea, and now I discover thatI not only haven't money enough to pay it and get to Rome, but I haven'tmuch more than half enough to pay it. I have credit galore," he said,trying to give the situation a touch of liveliness, "but the bank isshut."

  Mr. Waters listened to the statement with a silence concerning whichColville was obliged to form his conjectures. "That is unfortunate," hesaid sympathetically, but not encouragingly.

  Colville pushed on desperately. "It is, unless you can help me, Mr.Waters. I want you to lend me fifty dollars for as many hours."

  Mr. Waters shook his head with a compassionate smile. "I haven't fiftyfrancs in cash. You are welcome to what there is. I'm very forgetfulabout money matters, and haven't been to the bankers."

  "Oh, don't excuse yourself to me, unless you wish to embitter my shame.I'm obliged to you for offering to share your destitution with me. Imust try to run my face with the landlord," said Colville.

  "Oh no," said Mr. Waters gently. "Is there such haste as all that?"

  "Yes, I must go at once."

  "I don't like to have you apply to a stranger," said the old man, withfatherly kindness. "Can't you remain over till Monday? I had a littleexcursion to propose."

  "No, I can't possibly stay; I must go to-night," cried Colville.

  The minister rose. "Then I really mustn't detain you, I suppose.Good-bye." He offered his hand. Colville took it, but could not let itgo at once. "I would like extremely to tell you why I'm leaving Florencein such haste. But I don't see what good it would do, for I don't wantyou to persuade me to stay."

  The old gentleman looked at him with friendly interest.

  "The fact is," Colville proceeded, as if he had been encouraged to doso, "I have had the misfortune--yes, I'm afraid I've had the fault--tomake myself very displeasing to Mrs. Bowen, and in such a way that thevery least I can do is to take myself off as far and as soon as Iconveniently can."

  "Yes?" said Mr. Waters, with the cheerful note of incredulity in hisvoice with which one is apt to respond to others' confession ofextremity. "Is it so bad as that? I've just seen Mrs. Bowen, and shetold me you were going."

  "Oh," said Colville, with disagreeable sensation, "perhaps she told youwhy I was going."

  "No," answered Mr. Waters; "she didn't do that." Colville imagined aconsciousness in him, which perhaps did not exist. "She didn't allude tothe subject further than to state the fact, when I mentioned that I wascoming to see you."

  Colville had dropped his hand. "She was very forbearing," he said, withbitterness that might well have been incomprehensible to Mr. Waters uponany theory but one.

  "Perhaps," he suggested, "you are precipitate; perhaps you havemistaken; perhaps you have been hasty. These things are often the resultof impulse in women. I have often wondered how they could make up theirminds; I believe they certainly ought to be allowed to change them atleast once."

  Colville turned very red. "What in the world do you m
ean? Do you imaginethat I have been offering myself to Mrs. Bowen?"

  "Wasn't it that which you wished to--which you said you would like totell me?"

  Colville was suddenly silent, on the verge of a self-derisive laugh.When he spoke, he said gently: "No; it wasn't that. I never thought ofoffering myself to her. We have always been very good friends. But nowI'm afraid we can't be friends any more--at least we can't beacquaintances."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Waters. He waited a while as if for Colville to saymore, but the latter remained silent, and the old man gave his handagain in farewell. "I must really be going. I hope you won't think meintrusive in my mistaken conjecture?"

  "Oh no."

  "It was what I supposed you had been telling me----"

  "I understand. You mustn't be troubled," said Colville, though he had toown to himself that it seemed superfluous to make this request of Mr.Waters, who was taking the affair with all the serenity of ageconcerning matters of sentiment. "I wish you were going to Rome withme," he added, to disembarrass the moment of parting.

  "Thank you. But I shall not go to Rome for some years. Shall you comeback on your way in the spring?"

  "No, I shall not come to Florence again," said Colville sadly.

  "Ah, I'm sorry. Good-bye, my dear young friend. It's been a greatpleasure to know you." Colville walked down to the door of the hotelwith his visitor and parted with him there. As he turned back he met thelandlord, who asked him if he would have the omnibus for the station.The landlord bowed smilingly, after his kind, and rubbed his hands. Hesaid he hoped Colville was pleased with his hotel, and ran to his deskin the little office to get some cards for him, so that he mightrecommend it accurately to American families.

  Colville looked absently at the cards. "The fact is," he said, to thelittle bowing, smiling man; "I don't know but I shall be obliged topostpone my going till Monday." He smiled too, trying to give the fact ajocose effect, and added, "I find myself out of money, and I've no meansof paying your bill till I can see my bankers."

  After all his heroic intention, this was as near as he could come toasking the landlord to let him send the money from Rome.

  The little man set his head on one side.

  "Oh, well, occupy the room until Monday, then," he cried hospitably. "Itis quite at your disposition. You will not want the omnibus?"

  "No, I shall not want the omnibus," said Colville, with a laugh,doubtless not perfectly intelligible to the landlord, who respectfullyjoined him in it.

  He did not mean to stop that night without writing to Mrs. Bowen, andassuring her that though an accident had kept him in Florence tillMonday, she need not be afraid of seeing him again. But he could not goback to his room yet; he wandered about the town, trying to pick himselfup from the ruin into which he had fallen again, and wondering with asort of alien compassion what was to become of his aimless, emptyexistence. As he passed through the Piazza San Marco he had half a mindto pick a pebble from the gardened margin of the fountain there and tossit against the Rev. Mr. Waters's window, and when he put his skull-capout, to ask that optimistic agnostic what a man had best do with a lifethat had ceased to interest him. But, for the time being, he got rid ofhimself as he best could by going to the opera. They professed to give_Rigoletto_, but it was all Mrs. Bowen and Imogene Graham to Colville.

  It was so late when he got back to his hotel that the outer gate wasshut, and he had to wake up the poor little porter, as on that nightwhen he returned from Madame Uccelli's. The porter was again equal tohis duty, and contrived to light a new candle to show him the way to hisroom. The repetition, almost mechanical, of this small chicane madeColville smile, and this apparently encouraged the porter to ask, as ifhe supposed him to have been in society somewhere--

  "You have amused yourself this evening?

  "Oh, very much."

  "I am glad. There is a letter for you.'

  "A letter! Where?"

  "I sent it to your room. It came just before midnight."