The third bell rang and a heavy tread was heard on the stairs. The mere
sound of its mounting was impressive. The Countess laid a reminding
finger on her lips, as she moved toward the door.
There appeared an elderly man, in a black frockcoat, loose-fitting and
not too garishly new, a student's coat rather than a fop's.
"Is this Perfesser Balthasar?" inquired the Countess in her best manner.
"At your service, Madam!" He permitted himself a courtly inclination,
conferred upon the Countess a glistening tall hat, and then covered his
expansive baldness with a skullcap of silk which he drew from an inner
pocket.
"I feared we was discommoding you," ventured the Countess, elegantly
apologetic; "your secatary said you was out advisin' one the
Vandabilts--"
"A mere trifle in the day's work, Madam!" He brushed it aside with an
eloquent hand. "My mission is to serve. You wished to consult me?"
"Not me; but this young gentaman here--"
"Ah!" He turned to face Bean, who had risen, regarding him with serious
eyes and twirling a curled moustache meditatively.
"I see, I see! An imprisoned soul seeking the light!" He came nearer to
Bean, staring intently, then started with dramatic suddenness as if at
an electric shock from concealed wires.
"What is this--what is this--what _is_ this?"
Bean backed away defensively. The professor seemed with difficulty to
withdraw his fascinated gaze, and turned apologetically to the Countess.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98