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The unknown emptied the purse into his hand. It contained three double louis, which amounted to the six louis demanded by the host. But it was seven that Cropole had required. He looked, therefore, at the unknown, as much as to say, "And then?" "There remains one louis, does there not, master hotelier?" "Yes, monsieur, but "
When I arrived at the' least bad hotel in Nish the hotelier said he did not wish to be mixed up in the affair; gave me the worst room in the house and told me I had better leave by the first train next morning. I said I was going to stay and did. And explored Nish conscious of "guardian angels" at my heels.
He had taken, without hesitation, without reflection even, the principal apartment which the hotelier had pointed out to him with a rapacious aim, very praiseworthy, some will say, very reprehensible will say others, if they admit that Cropole was a physiognomist and judged people at first sight.
The day after his departure from Paris, he was left at Chartres, at the house of an old friend D'Artagnan had met with in an hotelier of that city. From that moment the musketeer travelled on post-horses. Thanks to this mode of locomotion, he traversed the space separating Chartres from Chateaubriand.
A few minutes later I was seated in the office of an elderly bald-headed man, a typical hôtelier, courteous, smiling, and eager to hear any complaint that I might have to make. At once I told him of my curious adventure of the previous night, and of the sudden flight of the mysterious stranger whom I had discovered in my room. "That is certainly strange, sir," he replied in English.
"Whilst to-day," replied he, coldly, "you do prejudge." "Monsieur, I am a well-meaning man, thank God! and simple hotelier as I am, there is in me the blood of a gentleman. My father was a servant and officer of the late Marechal d'Ancre. God rest his soul!" "I do not contest that point with you; I only wish to know, and that quickly, to what your questions tend?"
He had taken, without hesitation, without reflection even, the principal apartment which the hotelier had pointed out to him with a rapacious aim, very praiseworthy, some will say, very reprehensible will say others, if they admit that Cropole was a physiognomist, and judged people at first sight.
This, by the way. Vuko Vuletitch, the hotelier, in his green, red-embroidered coat, was haranguing them from the doorstep with the latest telegram in his hand. Loud and lively discussion filled the air. Vuko waved his hand as I approached. "Here," he said, "is the Gospodjitza who says Petar Karageorgevitch will be King."
The unknown emptied the purse into his hand. It contained three double louis, which amounted to the six louis demanded by the host. But it was seven that Cropole had required. He looked, therefore, at the unknown, as much as to say, "And then?" "There remains one louis, does there not, master hotelier?" "Yes, monsieur, but "
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