"What of her?" cried the knight. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. The ladder was now within reach. It was horrible, but she must do it. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth.
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