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The Salle des Pas Perdus was now almost quite empty, and looked yet more frigid and mournful with its Laocoon and its Minerva, its bare commonplace walls like those of a railway-station waiting-room, between which all the scramble of the century passed, though apparently without even warming the lofty ceiling.
Then she went to the fireplace and knelt down close to it, warming her hands at the blaze. 'The degradation of it! she whispered. Bit by bit she sought to reconstruct the scene, piecing it together out of Drake's words; but somehow that scene would not be reconstructed.
His steady success of the last few months, the triumph of the afternoon had never brought him one of the thrills which were in his pulses at that moment, not one iota of the pleasurable sense of well-being which was warming his veins. The new menace which had suddenly thrown its shadow across his path was forgotten. Governments might come or go, a career be made or broken upon the wheel.
"Sir," continued the missionary, warming on his theme, "I was in a church last Sunday that cost its congregation over two hundred thousand dollars. It was an anniversary occasion, and the collections for the day were to be given to some foreign mission. How eloquently the preacher pleaded for the heathen! What vivid pictures of their moral and spiritual destitution he drew!
I felt a sort of glow of satisfaction warming my heart at the manifestation of my son's spirit; but I knew that in one of his age, and especially at such a time, and with such a prospect before us, it was not right to encourage it, and it was impossible for a fond parent to incite his only son to the performance of an act that would endanger his life.
Miss Patty came to the fire and stood warming her hands. I saw her sister watching her. "What's wrong with you, Pat?" she asked. "Oskar not behaving?" "Don't be silly," Miss Patty said. "I'm all right." "She's worked to death," Mrs. Sam put in. "Look at all of us. I'll tell you I'm so tired these nights that by nine o'clock I'm asleep on my feet."
"Mr Frewen said it was wonderfully strong," I said. "Well, we must hope so. Take the tins. You will not make any mistake?" "Oh no, I'll take care," I said. "The yellow one for the men, the blue for us; but you don't catch me touching it." "Nor me, Dale," he said, with a nod. "And look here, I shan't open this, but here's a big tin of kangaroo-tail; give him that too for warming up for our dinner."
Give it to these gentlemen to bear to the Queen; and for the present I must leave you for an hour, for the council awaits me. Come, Bertrandi." With these bald words, delivered in a stilted fashion, his voice only warming as he bade au revoir to La Valentinois, the King left us, followed by Bertrandi.
He looks to me as if he had loved too many books and too few people; as if he had tried vainly to fill his heart and life with antiquities, which of all things, perhaps, are the most bloodless, the least warming and nourishing when taken in excess or as a steady diet. There are women who are born to be petted and served, and there are those who seem born to serve others.
So by the merest chance I learned that the invisible "Michael Henry" was the almoner of the modest statesman and really the spirit of Silas Wright feeding the hungry and clothing the naked and warming the cold house, in the absence of its owner. It was the heart of Wright joined to that of the schoolmaster, which sat in the green chair.
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