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ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD 463
declaring to the world that Dulcinea del Toboso was peerless among
women ? Did not Antar bawl out in battle, "I am the lover of
Ibla " ? Our knight had taken all the people of the hotel into his
confidence somehow. They all knew of his condition—all, the
painter, the poet, the half-pay Polish officer, the landlord, the
hostess, down to the little knife-boy who used to come in with,
" The factor comes of to pass—no letter this morning."
No doubt Philip's political letters became, under this outward
pressure, very desponding and gloomy. One day, as he sat gnawing
his moustaches at his desk, the little Anatole enters his apartment
and cries, " Tenez, M. Philippe. That lady again!" And the
faithful, the watchful, the active Madame Smolensk once more made
her appearance in his chamber.
Philip blushed and hung his head for shame. "Ungrateful
brute that I am," he thought ; " I have been back more than a
week, and never thought a bit about that good kind soul who came
to my succour. I am an awful egotist. Love is always so."
As he rose up to greet his friend, she looked so grave, and pale,
and sad, that he could not but note her demeanour. " Bon Dieu !
had anything happened ?"
" Ce pauvre Général is ill, very ill, Philip," Smolensk said, in
her grave voice.
He was so gravely ill, Madame said, that his daughter had been
sent for.
" Had she come ?" asked Philip, with a start.
"You think but of her—you care not for the poor old man.
You are all the same, you men. All egotists—all. Go! I know
you! I never knew one that was not," said Madame.
Philip has his little faults : perhaps egotism is one of his defects.
Perhaps it is yours, or even mine.
" You have been here a week since Thursday last, and you have
never written or sent to a woman who loves you well. Go ! It
was not well, Monsieur Philippe."
As soon as he saw her, Philip felt that he had been neglectful
and ungrateful. We have owned so much already. But how
should Madame know that he had returned on Thursday week?
When they looked up after her reproof, his eager eyes seemed to
ask this question.
" Could she not write to me and tell me that you were come
back? Perhaps she knew that you would not do so yourself. A
woman's heart teaches her these experiences early," continued the
lady sadly. Then she added: "I tell you, you are good-fornothings,
all of you ! And I repent me, see you, of having had
the betise to pity you !"