Little Dorrit, Charles Dickens [big ebook reader txt] 📗

sufficiently to throw a dull glare about his groping face, and to sprinkle his hands with pale little spots of fire, but not sufficiently to light the candle. The stranger, taking advantage of this fitful illumination of his visage, looked intently and wonderingly at him. Jeremiah, when he at last lighted the candle, knew he had been doing this, by seeing the last shade of a lowering watchfulness clear away from his face, as it broke into the doubtful smile that was a large ingredient in its expression.

“Be so good,” said Jeremiah, closing the house door, and taking a pretty sharp survey of the smiling visitor in his turn, “as to step into my countinghouse.⁠—It’s all right, I tell you!” petulantly breaking off to answer the voice upstairs, still unsatisfied, though Affery was there, speaking in persuasive tones. “Don’t I tell you it’s all right? Preserve the woman, has she no reason at all in her!”

“Timorous,” remarked the stranger.

“Timorous?” said Mr. Flintwinch, turning his head to retort, as he went before with the candle. “More courageous than ninety men in a hundred, sir, let me tell you.”

“Though an invalid?”

“Many years an invalid. Mrs. Clennam. The only one of that name left in the House now. My partner.”

Saying something apologetically as he crossed the hall, to the effect that at that time of night they were not in the habit of receiving anyone, and were always shut up, Mr. Flintwinch led the way into his own office, which presented a sufficiently businesslike appearance. Here he put the light on his desk, and said to the stranger, with his wryest twist upon him, “Your commands.”

“My name is Blandois.”

“Blandois. I don’t know it,” said Jeremiah.

“I thought it possible,” resumed the other, “that you might have been advised from Paris⁠—”

“We have had no advice from Paris respecting anybody of the name of Blandois,” said Jeremiah.

“No?”

“No.”

Jeremiah stood in his favourite attitude. The smiling Mr. Blandois, opening his cloak to get his hand to a breast-pocket, paused to say, with a laugh in his glittering eyes, which it occurred to Mr. Flintwinch were too near together:

“You are so like a friend of mine! Not so identically the same as I supposed when I really did for the moment take you to be the same in the dusk⁠—for which I ought to apologise; permit me to do so; a readiness to confess my errors is, I hope, a part of the frankness of my character⁠—still, however, uncommonly like.”

“Indeed?” said Jeremiah, perversely. “But I have not received any letter of advice from anywhere respecting anybody of the name of Blandois.”

“Just so,” said the stranger.

“Just so,” said Jeremiah.

Mr. Blandois, not at all put out by this omission on the part of the correspondents of the house of Clennam and Co., took his pocketbook from his breast-pocket, selected a letter from that receptacle, and handed it to Mr. Flintwinch. “No doubt you are well acquainted with the writing. Perhaps the letter speaks for itself, and requires no advice. You are a far more competent judge of such affairs than I am. It is my misfortune to be, not so much a man of business, as what the world calls (arbitrarily) a gentleman.”

Mr. Flintwinch took the letter, and read, under date of Paris, “We have to present to you, on behalf of a highly esteemed correspondent of our Firm, M. Blandois, of this city,” etc., etc. “Such facilities as he may require and such attentions as may lie in your power,” etc., etc. “Also have to add that if you will honour M. Blandois’ drafts at sight to the extent of, say Fifty Pounds sterling (£50),” etc., etc.

“Very good, sir,” said Mr. Flintwinch. “Take a chair. To the extent of anything that our House can do⁠—we are in a retired, old-fashioned, steady way of business, sir⁠—we shall be happy to render you our best assistance. I observe, from the date of this, that we could not yet be advised of it. Probably you came over with the delayed mail that brings the advice.”

“That I came over with the delayed mail, sir,” returned Mr. Blandois, passing his white hand down his high-hooked nose, “I know to the cost of my head and stomach: the detestable and intolerable weather having racked them both. You see me in the plight in which I came out of the packet within this half-hour. I ought to have been here hours ago, and then I should not have to apologise⁠—permit me to apologise⁠—for presenting myself so unreasonably, and frightening⁠—no, by the by, you said not frightening; permit me to apologise again⁠—the esteemed lady, Mrs. Clennam, in her invalid chamber above stairs.”

Swagger and an air of authorised condescension do so much, that Mr. Flintwinch had already begun to think this a highly gentlemanly personage. Not the less unyielding with him on that account, he scraped his chin and said, what could he have the honour of doing for Mr. Blandois tonight, out of business hours?

“Faith!” returned that gentleman, shrugging his cloaked shoulders, “I must change, and eat and drink, and be lodged somewhere. Have the kindness to advise me, a total stranger, where, and money is a matter of perfect indifference until tomorrow. The nearer the place, the better. Next door, if that’s all.”

Mr. Flintwinch was slowly beginning, “For a gentleman of your habits, there is not in this immediate neighbourhood any hotel⁠—” when Mr. Blandois took him up.

“So much for my habits! my dear sir,” snapping his fingers. “A citizen of the world has no habits. That I am, in my poor way, a gentleman, by Heaven! I will not deny, but I have no unaccommodating prejudiced habits. A clean room, a hot dish for dinner, and a bottle of not absolutely poisonous wine, are all I want tonight. But I want that much without the trouble of going one unnecessary inch to get it.”

“There is,” said Mr. Flintwinch, with more than his usual deliberation, as he met, for a moment, Mr. Blandois’ shining eyes, which were restless; “there is a coffeehouse and tavern close here, which, so far, I can recommend; but there’s no