A man who had expressed such views as these at the most renowned tables of France and England was not likely to forget his principles in the United States.  Accordingly, he arose early, as we have seen, on the morning after his arrival, and forced an astonished waiter to marshal him to the kitchen, and introduce him to the cook.  The cook of the Granite Hotel at that time was a round, red-lipped Italian, an artist and enthusiast, but whose temper had been much tried by lack of appreciation; and, although his salary was good, he contemplated throwing it over, abandoning the Yankee nation to its fate, and seeking some more congenial field.  Balder, who, when the mood was on him, could wield a tongue persuasive as Richard the Third’s, talked to this man, and in seven minutes had won his whole heart.  The immediate result was a delectable breakfast, but the sequel was a triumph indeed.  It seems that the aesthetic Italian had for several days been watching over a brace of plump, truffled partridges.  This day they had reached perfection, and were to have been eaten by no less a person than the cook himself.  These cherished birds did he now actually offer to make over to his eloquent and sympathetic acquaintance.  Balder was deeply moved, and accepted the gift on one condition,—­that the donor should share the feast!  “When a man serves me up his own heart,—­truffled, too,—­he must help me eat it,” he said, with emotion.  The condition imposed was, after faint resistance, agreed to; the other episodes of the bill of fare were decided upon, and the Italian and the Scandinavian were to dine together that afternoon.

It still lacked something of the dinner-hour when Mr. Helwyse came out through the dark passage-way of the Beacon Hill Bank, and paused for a few moments on the threshold, looking up and down the street.  Against the dark background he made a handsome picture,—­tall, gallant, unique.  The May sunshine, falling, athwart the face of the gloomy old building, was glad to light up the waves of his beard and hair, and to cast the shadow of his hat-brim over his forehead and eyes.  The picture stays just long enough to fix itself in the memory, and then the young man goes lightly down the worn steps, and is lost along the crowded street.  Such as he is now, we shall not see him standing in that dark frame again!

Wherever he went, Balder Helwyse was sure to be stared at; but to this he was admirably indifferent.  He never thought of speculating about what people thought of Mr. Helwyse; but to his own approval—­something not lightly to be had—­he was by no means indifferent.  Towards mankind at large he showed a kindly but irreverent charity, which excused imperfection, not so much from a divine principle of love as from scepticism as to man’s sufficient motive and faculty to do well.  Of himself he was a blunt and sarcastic critic, perhaps because he expected more of himself than of the rest of the world, and fancied that that person only had the ability to be his censor!