United States or Dominica ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
It was more like a room in the Hôtel des Roses, which was the nearest to home of any place Monte had found in a decade. It was as if when she came in she completely refurnished it with little things with which he was familiar. Edhart always used to place flowers in his apartment; and it was like that. "The only bother with the arrangement," he said, looking serious, "is that it takes your time.
That evening they walked by the shore of the sea, and Monte appeared quieter than usual. "I have wired ahead for rooms at the Hôtel des Roses," he announced. "Yes, Monte," she said. "It's where I've stopped for ten years. The last time I was there I found Edhart gone, and was very uncomfortable." "You were as dependent upon him as that?" she asked.
Ordinarily there was nothing morbid about Monte, but Edhart's death and the big empty space that was left all about Nice, the silence where once he had been so sure of hearing Edhart's voice, the ghostly reminders of Edhart in those who clicked about in Edhart's bones without his flesh all these things had given Monte's thoughts an occasional novel trend.
Perhaps Edhart, from his seat on high, had been instructing him. The man seemed to understand better without being told what Monsieur Covington desired. The apartments were ready, and it was merely a personal matter between Monte and the garçon to have his trunk transferred from the second floor to the third and Marie's trunk brought down from the third to the second.
The next suggestion that leaped into Monte's mind was obvious enough, yet he paused a moment before voicing it. Perhaps even then he would not have found the courage had he not been rather panic-stricken. He had exactly the same feeling, when he thought of her in Étois, that he had when he thought of Edhart in Paradise. It started as resentment, but ended in a slate-gray loneliness.
The passing of Edhart did more to call Monte's attention to the fact that in his own life a decade had also passed than anything else could possibly have done. Between birthdays there is only the lapse each time of a year; but between the coming and going of the maître d'hôtel there was a period of ten years, which with his disappearance seemed to vanish.
Edhart had made him believe, even to last year, that in this matter and a hundred others he was merely expressing the light preferences of a young man. Now, because he was obliged to emphasize his wishes by explicit orders, they became the definite likes and dislikes of a man of middle age.
It was also a dinner of which he felt Edhart would thoroughly approve, and that always was a satisfaction. "Now," he said to the girl, as soon as Henri had left, "tell me about yourself." "You knew about Aunt Kitty?" she asked. "No," he replied hesitatingly, with an uneasy feeling that it was one of those things that he should know about.
This was very pleasant, and prevented Monte from getting really lonesome, and consequently from getting old. It was only in the last few weeks that he fully realized all that Edhart had done for him. It was, in some ways, as if Edhart had come back to life again in Marjory.
"It was what lured me on to Paris and you," he smiled. "Then I must be indebted to Edhart also." "I think it would be no more than decent to look up his grave and place a wreath of roses there," he observed. "But, Monte," she protested, "I should hate to imagine he had to give up his life for just this."
Word Of The Day