He thought it significant.
Late one day of a most bitter winter,--that season when, to the ecstatic
amazement of a whole city-full of children, snow covered the streets
ankle-deep,--there came a soft tap on the corridor-door of this pair of
rooms. The lady opened it, and beheld a tall, lank, iron-gray man, a
total stranger, standing behind--Monsieur George! Both men were
weather-beaten, scarred, and tattered. Across 'Sieur George's crown,
leaving a long, bare streak through his white hair, was the souvenir of
a Mexican sabre.
The landlord had accompanied them to the door: it was a magnificent
opportunity. Mademoiselle asked them all in, and tried to furnish a seat
to each; but failing, 'Sieur George went straight across the room and
_sat on the hair-trunk_. The action was so conspicuous, the landlord
laid it up in his penetrative mind.
'Sieur George was quiet, or, as it appeared, quieted. The mulattress
stood near him, and to her he addressed, in an undertone, most of the
little he said, leaving Mademoiselle to his companion.
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