The mirror unfortunately was high and, crane his neck as he might, he could see nothing beyond the waves of his short, dark hair and his eager, questioning eyes.  But the effect must be observed, and, with an anxiety in seeming contrast to his nature, he pulled one of the massive velvet chairs to the fireplace and, mounting upon it, surveyed himself at every angle with deep intentness.  At last, satisfied, he jumped to the ground, and taking the brown-paper packet from the hiding-place where it had reposed all night, bestowed it again in the pocket of his overcoat and, picking up the felt hat, left the room.

The corridor, despite the advent of the day, was still dark, save where an occasional door stood ajar and a shaft of sun from the outer world shot across the drab carpet; but Jean had been over the floor with his broom while the hotel slept, and the battered tray with its suggestion of sordid festivity had been removed.  Even here the electric air of the morning had made entry, and, yielding to its seduction, the boy gave rein to his eagerness as he hurried forward to the head of the stairs and laid his hand upon the meagre banister.

From the hall below the white light of the day ascended with subtle invitation, while outside the world hummed with possibilities.  He began the descent, light as a Mercury, his feet scarcely touching the steps that last night had offered so toilsome a progress, and on the third floor he encountered Jean, bearing another tray laden with plates and covered dishes.

At sight of the young face, the good creature’s smile broke forth irresistibly.

‘Ah, but monsieur had slept!’ The little eyes ran over the face and figure of the guest with visible pleasure.

The boy laughed—­the full, light-hearted laugh that belongs to the beginning of things.

“Yes, I have slept; and now, you may believe, I have an appetite!”

Jean echoed the laugh with a spontaneity that held no disrespect.  He lingered, drawn, as the Irishman in the train had been drawn, by something original, something vital, in the youthful personality.

‘His faith!  But monsieur had the spirit as well as the appetite!’

“Ah, the spirit!” For a fleeting second the boy’s eyes looked away beyond Jean—­untidy, attentive, comprehending—­beyond the neutral-tinted walls and the shabby carpet of the Hotel Railleux, seeing in vision the things that were to come.  Then, with his swift impulsiveness, he flung his dream from him.  What mattered the future?  What mattered the past?  He was here in the present—­in the moment; and the moment, great or small, demanded living.

“Never mind the spirit, Jean!  Let us consider the flesh!  Where is the salle-a-manger?”

‘The salle-a-manger was on the second floor.’

’The second floor?  But of course!  Had not Jean mentioned that fact last night?’ With a nod and a smile, he was away down the intervening steps and at the door of the eating-room before Jean could balance his tray for his renewed ascent.