A STRANGE MEETING.
The Hotel de la Couronne is situated in one of the finest parts
of Lyons. As Ben stood before it, he began to doubt whether he
had not better go away with his errand undone. After all, this
American gentleman, if there were one in the hotel, would be likely
to feel very little interest in a destitute boy claiming to be
a fellow-countryman. He might even look upon him as a designing
rogue, with a fictitious story of misfortune, practising upon his
credulity. Ben's cheek flushed at the mere thought that he might be
so regarded.
So he was on the point of going away; but he was nerved by his very
desperation to carry out his original plan.
He entered the hotel, and went up to the office.
"Will monsieur look at some apartments?" asked the landlord's son, a
man of thirty.
"No, monsieur--that is, not at present. Is there an American
gentleman at present staying in the hotel?"
"Yes. Is monsieur an American?"
Ben replied in the affirmative, and asked for the name of his
countryman.
"It is Monsieur Novarro," was the reply.
"Novarro!" repeated Ben to himself. "That sounds more like a Spanish
or an Italian name."
"Is that the gentleman monsieur desires to see?"
"From what part of America does Mr. Novarro come?"
The register was applied to, and the answer given was "Havana."
"Havana!" said Ben, disappointed. "Then he will take no interest in
me," he thought. "There is very little kindred between a Cuban and
an American."
"Would monsieur like to see M. Novarro?"
"I may as well see him," thought Ben, and he answered in the
affirmative.
"There is M. Novarro, now," said the landlord's son; and Ben,
turning, saw a tall, very dark-complexioned man, who had just
entered.
"M. Novarro, here is a young gentleman who wishes to see you--a
countryman of yours."
The Cuban regarded Ben attentively, and not without surprise.
"Have we met before?" he asked, courteously.
"No, sir," answered Ben, relieved to find that the Cuban spoke
English; "and I am afraid I am taking a liberty in asking for you."
"By no means! If I can be of any service to you, my friend, you may
command me."
"It is rather a long story, Mr. Novarro," Ben commenced.
"Then we will adjourn to my room, where we shall be more at our
ease."
Ben followed his new acquaintance to a handsome private parlor on
the second floor and seated himself in a comfortable arm-chair,
indicated by the Cuban.
"I will first mention my name," said Ben. "It is Benjamin Baker."
"Baker!" exclaimed the Cuban, in evident excitement. "Who was your
father?"
"My father was Dr. John Baker, and lived in Sunderland, Connecticut."
"Is is possible!" ejaculated the Cuban; "you are his son?"
"Did you know my father?" asked Ben, in amazement.
"I never saw him, but I knew of him. I am prepared to be a friend
to his son. Now tell me your story."