Monsieur Jonquelle by Melville Davisson Post Read Free Book Online Page A

was standing there on the balcony. She wore a loose gown of delicate blue, and her hair hung to her waist in two wrist-thick plaits. I stared in a sort of wonder. The setting and my mood were agreeable to the entrance of some fairy creature. And here she was, as the painters were accustomed to present her in their pictures.
    The very words of the old story-tellers were accurately descriptive—hair as yellow as gold and as heavy as gold; and she was little and dainty, like the fairy women. I knew that her eyes were blue like the cornflower before she looked up. I must have made some sound, but she did not see me; and in a moment she went back through the window.
    I swallowed my breakfast—this is a practical world—and I made some inquiries of the servant who brought it up. The apartment was taken on this very morning. Madame Nekludoff and maid. A Russian then? “
Oui, Monsieur
.” Aprincess then, perhaps? He shrugged his shoulders and threw out his hands above my pot of coffee. How could one tell? If they said they were it was a sign against it! The coins were true and false! The latest princess of the blood was a dancer from Montmartre, with her hand in a banker’s pocket. And a
nègre
from New York had traveled as a rajah! The truth was by contraries, he thought—like dreams. Since this new guest gave no title, she doubtless had one.
    The old
femme de chambre
on the floor below was an expert in such matters, however. Monsieur understood? There were skilled dealers in jewels who, by the eye, could tell a spurious brilliant. It was long experience, maybe, or a sort of instinct—one could not say. Well, the ancient Eda was such a judge of the human jewel. Should he enlist her service for Monsieur? I declined, and we closed the incident with a coin of the republic.
    I went down and smoked innumerable cigarettes upon the great terrace among the formal orange trees. Strolling singers came and sang, and children danced; but somehow my interest in events was not with them. I had an eye upon that balcony, but no god moved. I went in to luncheon, and after that to the vantage of my window. It was in vain.
    Then, when I had given up and abandoned myselfto fortune, as Caesar used to do, the thing happened.
    I was going down in that absurd gilt box of a lift, when, as I approached the floor below, a little voice called out: “
Ascenseur
!” I had trouble to select the proper button, but finally I got it, and after some endeavors brought the craft to dock, and got the doors open. I saw Madame Nekludoff for an instant before she recognized that I was not a servant.
    She was not the mere child that she looked in her fairy costume, but she was young—one or two and twenty, I should say. Her face in repose was saddened, as though she had tasted life and found it bitter. She was all in black, but there were no extravagances of mourning in her dress. She had chosen that color, I thought, that she might be the less conspicuous; but it was a failure to that end. The somber background served only the more to bring out the lights in her hair and the fair, transparent skin.
    She was in a panic of confusion when she saw that I was not a servant.
    â€œOh, pardon, Monsieur!” she said. “I thought it would be
le garçon
. I am sorry! Pardon!” And she turned to go back to her apartment.
    I made the best continental bow I could.
    â€œMadame will do me a very great honor,” I said, “if she will permit me to take her down. Icannot pretend to a very considerable skill as an aërial pilot, but I think I can manage.” I went on, for I feared she would go away forever if I ceased to talk—and the fear was very truly founded: “There ought, of course, to be a genie with this magic box; but he is sleeping or on a journey, and in his absence may I not offer a neighbor’s service?”
    She declined, however, expressed her regret at having caused me this annoyance, and in