The man turned the handle of the Break of Day
door, and limped in. He touched his discoloured slouched hat, as he came in at the door, to
a few men who occupied the room. Two were playing dominoes at one of the
little tables; three or four were seated round the stove, conversing
as they smoked; the billiard-table in the centre was left alone for the
time; the landlady of the Daybreak sat behind her little counter among
her cloudy bottles of syrups, baskets of cakes, and leaden drainage for
glasses, working at her needle. Making his way to an empty little table in a corner of the room behind
the stove, he put down his knapsack and his cloak upon the ground. As
he raised his head from stooping to do so, he found the landlady beside
him. 'One can lodge here to-night, madame?' 'Perfectly!' said the landlady in a high, sing-song, cheery voice. 'Good. One can dine--sup--what you please to call it?'
'Ah, perfectly!' cried the landlady as before. 'Dispatch then, madame,
if you please. Something to eat, as quickly as you can; and some wine at
once. I am exhausted.' 'It is very bad weather, monsieur,' said the landlady. 'Cursed weather.' 'And a very long road.' 'A cursed road.'
His hoarse voice failed him, and he rested his head upon his hands until
a bottle of wine was brought from the counter. Having filled and emptied
his little tumbler twice, and having broken off an end from the great
loaf that was set before him with his cloth and napkin, soup-plate,
salt, pepper, and oil, he rested his back against the corner of the
wall, made a couch of the bench on which he sat, and began to chew
crust, until such time as his repast should be ready. There had been
that momentary interruption of the talk about the stove, and that
temporary inattention to and distraction from one another, which is
usually inseparable in such a company from the arrival of a stranger. It
had passed over by this time; and the men had done glancing at him, and
were talking again.
'That's the true reason,' said one of them, bringing a story he had
been telling, to a close, 'that's the true reason why they said that the
devil was let loose.' The speaker was the tall Swiss belonging to the
church, and he brought something of the authority of the church into the
discussion--especially as the devil was in question.
The landlady having given her directions for the new guest's
entertainment to her husband, who acted as cook to the Break of Day, had
resumed her needlework behind her counter. She was a smart, neat, bright
little woman, with a good deal of cap and a good deal of stocking, and
she struck into the conversation with several laughing nods of her head,
but without looking up from her work.