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 Hôtel 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-à-manger_?"

'The _salle-à-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.

The room that the boy entered was in keeping with the rest of the
house--old-fashioned and in ill-repair. The floor was devoid of
covering, the ceiling low, the only furniture a dozen small tables
meagrely set out for _déjeuner_. On the moment of his entry eleven of
these tables were unoccupied, but at the twelfth an eager young waiter
attended upon a stout provincial Frenchwoman who was partaking heartily
of a pungently smelling stew.