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Updated: June 6, 2025
They were under the immediate superintendence of Mr. Buscarlet and he seemed to feel the fondest interest in them. Indeed, there was sufficient reason for this: up to a certain point, the Neapolitan children learn so rapidly and willingly that it can hardly be other than a pleasure to teach them.
There was a recess beside the great mantelpiece, and in it hung Regnault's famous picture, "The Dancer," all scarlet frock and white flesh against an amber background. "That?" exclaimed O'Neill. "Lola?" Buscarlet nodded; he had forced a good effect. "That is she," he answered.
"I will be a very little while," he promised, and ran up the stairs. It was Buscarlet who opened the door to him, with Truelove standing behind his shoulder. "Welcome, welcome!" babbled Buscarlet. "Oh, but we have been eager for you! Tell me, will she will she come?" "She is waiting on the stairs, in the alcove," answered O'Neill. Buscarlet's mild eyes opened in amaze.
"What did he talk about?" asked O'Neill. Buscarlet coughed. "Of his wife," he answered. "Fancy it!" "His wife? Why, is he married?" demanded O'Neill in astonishment. Buscarlet nodded two or three times. "Yes," he replied; "that is one of the things that has happened to him. One might have guessed it, hein? a life like that! Ah, my friend, there is one who has put out his hours at usury.
It was the face of a man who had found a bitter answer for most of life's questions. By the bed sat Truelove, his servant, ex-corporal of dragoons. He rose noiselessly as O'Neill approached. "No change, sir," he reported. "Talked a bit, an hour ago. Mr. Buscarlet was then 'ere." "Any attacks?" asked O'Neill.
"Nothing to any purpose," replied Buscarlet. "I think he had been dreaming of her. You know the manner he has of waking up coming back to consciousness with eyes wide open and his mind alert, with no interval of drowsiness and reluctance? Yes? Well, he woke like that before I knew he had ceased to sleep. 'I should like to see her now, he said. 'Whom? I asked, and he smiled.
Buscarlet told you that she Lola is my wife?" "Yes," answered O'Neill. "Would you like me to send for her?" "She would not come for that," said Regnault. He was studying the young man's face with bright eyes. "Ah," he sighed; "you don't know these things. We parted of course; but not in weariness, not in the grey staleness of fatigue and boredom.
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