Early one day some two weeks after the foregoing incident the young
lawyer came out of his _pension francaise_, opposite his office, and
stood a moment in thought. In those two weeks he had not again seen
Mr. Castanado.
Once more it was scant half past eight. He looked across to the
windows of his office and of one bare third-story sleeping-room over
it. Eloquent windows! Their meanness reminded him anew how definitely
he had chosen not merely the simple but the solitary life. Yet now he
turned toward Royal Street. But at the third or fourth step he faced
about toward Chartres. The distance to the courthouse was the same
either way, and its entrances were alike on both streets.
Thought he as he went the Chartres Street way: "If I go _one more time_
by way of Royal I shall owe an abject apology, and yet to try to offer
it would only make the matter worse."
He went grimly, glad to pay this homage of avoidance which would have
been more to his credit paid a week or so earlier. His frequent
failure to pay it had won him, each time, a glimpse of _her_ and an
itching fear that prying eyes were on him inside other balconied
windows besides those of the unslender Mme. Castanado.
Temptation is a sly witch. Down at Conti Street, on the court-house's
upper riverside corner, he paused to take in the charm of one of the
most picturesque groups of old buildings in the _vieux carré_. But
there, to gather in all the effect, one must turn, sooner or later, and
include the upper side of Conti Street from Chartres to Royal; and as
Chester did so, yonder, once more, coming from Bourbon and turning from
Conti into Royal, there she was again, the avoided one!
Her black cupid was at her side, tiny even for nine years. They
disappeared conversing together. With his heart in his throat Chester
turned away, resumed his walk, and passed into the marble halls where
justice dreamt she dwelt. Up and down one of these, little traversed
so early, he paced, with a question burning in his breast, which every
new sigh of mortification fanned hotter: _Had she seen him_?--this
time? those other times? And did those Castanados suspect? Was that
why Mme. Castanado had the grippe, and the manuscript was yet unread?
A voice spoke his name and he found himself facing the very black
dealer in second-hand books.
"I was yonder at Toulouse Street," said Ovide Landry, "coming up-town,
when I saw you at Conti coming down. I have another map of the old
city for you. At that rate, Mr. Chester, you'll soon have as good a
collection as the best."
The young man was pleased: "Does it show exactly where Maspero's
Exchange stood?" he asked.
Ovide said come to the shop and see.
"I will, to-day; at six." Another man came up, "Ah, Mr. Castanado!
How--how is your patient?"
"Madame"--the costumer smiled happily--"is once more well. I was
looking for you. You didn't pass in Royal Street this morning."
[Ah, those eyes behind those windows behind those balconies!]
"No, I--oh! going, Landry? Good day. No, Mr. Castanado, I----"
"Madame hopes Mr. Chezter can at last, this evening, come at home for
that reading."
"Mr. Castanado, I can't! I'm mighty sorry! My whole evening's
engaged. So is to-morrow's. May I come the next evening after? . . .
Thank you. . . . Yes, at seven. Just the three of us, of course?
Yes."