CHAPTER XXX
"When I told you I would turn the bus over, I signaled to the old witch with my handkerchief.... I was as surprised as you were," said Marie. "The driver climbed off and held his head, and the two fat women pretended it didn't happen at all! I laugh whenever I think of it.
"After you had gone the witch came over here. She was excited. Were you interested? Did you believe? What did you say? I told her how you said five days and a half was a long time. 'They all say that,' the witch said. 'But I know he will decide. When he realizes he has the omnipotent wish, he will use it to realize his greatest desire and then we shall see what we shall see!
"'He will make a mad wish. He will wish for an end of suffering!'—she shivered as if this frightened her—'and then ... God knows! Or he will wish for justice; Or he will wish to be the richest man in the world!... He is so young, so American!'"
Spike moved in his chair as an idea stirred uneasily in him.
"That night there was thunder and lightning and heavy rain!" Marie continued.
"I should say there was! The lightning struck the School of St. Sulpice, almost next door to my pension, and broke some windows."
"... But only shook the dust off the words carved on the stones!" Marie put in. "The witch worried because you looked out your window and read them the first night. She kept saying, 'I wish he hadn't said them over! I wish he hadn't looked out the window just then, before it was dark.' She was afraid the words would have an effect on you."
"How could they have an effect on me?"
"They are sacred—'Qui a Jesus a Tout!' What did you think when you read them that first night?"
"I forget. They had a brave, lonely sound. They were friendly and sort of sad. I was scared about something for a minute. Then I forgot the words."
"I think the lightning was hers," Marie said. "But it didn't work. I think she ought to leave Parochial Schools alone!"
"I'm no Catholic!" Spike put in cautiously. "I'm not even a Lutheran. I'm a Lutheran atheist, if you get what I mean!"
They were religiously silent for a moment.
"Dites!" Spike exclaimed suddenly. "How did you know I looked out my window; who told you what I saw out my window?"
"The witch told me!" Marie seemed surprised at his question. "We had long talks every day. That first day after I had given you the ring she said, 'Come and see me this afternoon—Numero une, Place des Vosges. The concierge sleeps in the afternoon, so don't ring. You'll find the outer door unlocked. Walk right in and climb two flights of stairs, then turn to your right and go up the narrow half flight that branches off from the second floor landing. Knock at the little door. About four-thirty,' she said. 'We'll have tea à l'Anglaise' and giving me one of her make-believe smiles, she went running down the Boulevard Montparnasse.
"I did some things and then walked across the river and it was five when I opened the door of Numero une. You know the Place des Vosges, m'sieu, old buildings around a public garden—the side streets enter through tunnel-passages under the buildings. A thousand children squeal in the garden.
"I could hear the snores of the concierge as I went tip-toe past her door. The stair was very dark and I went one step at a time, feeling along the rail. But there was no rail on the witch's own stairs, and before her door, no landing—only the top step. I was frightened, even a little dizzy. I knocked and waited for a long time in the dark, hearing nothing.
"There was the sound of breathing, and a metallic click. Some one was looking at me through a slot in the door.
"'Alors?' in a whisper.
"'It is Marie,' I said, feeling like a conspirator. She opened the door wide.
"'Bon soir! Marie. Entrez. Entrez!'
"I had to lower my head to get in and her dark hallway was as low as the entrance. Beyond were two rooms connected by an arched doorway. In the first room I could stand erect, but the second was low like a cave—the floor was two steps nearer the ceiling and it was more than half filled with piles of papers and brown note-books. The two windows in the larger room were half circles. They began at the floor so that one had to stoop to look out into the square.
"I had a feeling of being pressed up against the roof. Everything was out of proportion—the carving of the ceiling, the enormous chandelier, the windows, the dusty furniture. After a while I realized the rooms were the top half of an old high-ceilinged drawing room.
"Under the arch of the doorway stood a low black desk, piled with dusty papers. I counted five ink bottles, and six quill pens, one of them broken in half. All around the desk were piles of dusty papers. They seemed to flow out from the cave-room. Every chair was covered with them.
"The witch sat down at the desk, resting her elbows on it, her claws in her hair. She studied some papers and seemed to forget me. I picked a note-book off a stool and sat down."