His work was interesting, and he could recognize its value, so he became less dissatisfied with the necessity that held him far behind the battle-line. Not that he was content, rather that he was resigned.... And at the end of the day there was Andree....
There were few evenings which they did not spend together, either by themselves or with Bert and Madeleine, dining at home, at Poccardi’s, at Marty’s, or in interesting, homelike little cafés across the river where excellent food could be had very cheaply. Sometimes they went to the theater or to the music-halls. Sometimes they strolled up and down the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne until they were tired and then sat and talked contentedly5 on springy iron chairs along the promenade6. Once they walked out that street, so crowded of evenings—that street of the ever-changing names—Montmartre, Poissonnière, Nouvelle, St.-Denis, St.-Martin—as far as the Place de la République. It was interesting, if tiresome7. More than once Kendall was impressed with the fact that Parisians of a certain class take their pleasures simply and childishly. More than one glaring palace, open at the front, showed rows upon rows of those devices, long extinct in America, before which one could sit or stand with the ends of a rubber tube in one’s ears and listen to such tunes8 as found favor with him played by phonograph. The popularity of these places surprised him. They were always crowded.... It seemed to him that this was the most crowded thoroughfare in Paris, as well as one of the most questionable9. The crowds impressed him as being questionable and bent10 on questionable errands.... And yet he did not know; he only guessed. So far as his knowledge went, these folk might be the most respectable in all France—all save the numerous soft-voice girls who threaded their way in and out.... And for a mere11 child, a girl who seemed hardly in her teens, who bit and struggled in the hands of two gendarmes12, shrieking13 in a voice that remained long in Kendall’s ears, “I have the age!... I have the age!... I have the age!...” over and over again....
Madeleine had laughed and shrugged14 her shoulders with some flippant word of comment, but Kendall looked down at Andree to see her eyes moist and big with pity.
“Pauvre p’tite!... Pauvre p’tite!... It is not she who should be punish’. She have made no wrong.... I theenk it is the crime of poverty. N’est-ce pas? Oh, to be pauvre—it is not well....”
“Yet le bon Dieu permits it,” said Madeleine.
“Non!... Non!... It is not of God, ma’m’selle; it is of man—thees poverty and thees awful theengs.... It mus’ be that tears come often to the eyes of the good God....”
Kendall was affected15 deeply. She spoke16 of the good God with such simplicity17, with the sort of intimacy18 which children use. He felt almost a reverence19 for her.... There was a rightness about her, a simple, unaffected, unconscious goodness, that set her apart and made her different, to him, from all mankind.
“Mignonne!” he whispered, and pressed her arm, and she, looking up shyly into his face, gave answering pressure, and, perhaps, wondered a little.
She was always so, never changing, yet always possessed20 of that infinite variety of which Shakespeare speaks. But it was a variety which was always Andree. In no mood, in no manifestation21, could she be anything but Andree. If she were sad, it was with a sadness peculiar22 to her, and very lovable; if she were gay, it was with her own gaiety; if she were mischievous23, it was with a charming impishness which no other being could have managed. And always she was natural—as natural as the rain that falls or the sun that shines or the breezes that blow.... She was Andree.
“To-morrow is the great fête,” said Andree. “There will be much to see.”
“And I can’t show it to you. I must work in the morning, and in the afternoon I am ordered to go to the front.”
“How long?” she said, quickly.
“But one day. I shall be here again Sunday—and we shall play, eh? We shall have déjeuner together and do something in the afternoon, and find a place to dine....”
“It is well—but you mus’ be ver’ careful. You mus’ not let the boche keel you.... Oh, I should be sad, sad.”
Already Paris was dressing24 for the American fête-day, the Fourth of July, which, by methods of law, had been made her own national holiday this year. Everywhere were American flags. There was no house in Paris too poor to show some small copy of the Stars and Stripes, for just now Paris was mad about America and Americans ... as it had had its day of madness over the Belgians and then the English. Paris is given to such enthusiasms, and at the moment there were men in the service of the great god Propaganda who labored25 to bring it about that this latest passion should not die and become sudden ashes as the others had done, but rather to persuade it to subside27 slowly, unnoticeably, leaving a pleasant memory behind....
“The boches will pull something off to-morrow,” said Bert. “You see. They’ll do something to bust28 up the celebration.”
This was the opinion of the Paris streets—that the Hun would, by some ingenious and disagreeable means, make the fête memorable29 in the history of the city.
“Maybe it’s just as well I’m going away,” laughed Ken1. “So you, Ma’m’selle Pourquoi—you look out for yourself. Don’t you let anything hurt you.”
“Me—pouf!... It could not be. While there is you nothing can happen to me—nothing. I am ver’ safe.”
They tried in vain to persuade a voiture or a taxicab to take them home, but, with that perversity30 which belongs to the Paris cabby alone, none of them would go. One reason or another was given—the horse was tired, the gasolene supply was depleted31, it was the wrong quarter of the city. A large volume, serious or comic, might be written on the habits and moods of these public conveyances33 of the most charming city in the world. Paris would not be the same without them. While they are one of the irritations34, none the less they are of the quaint35 and pleasant memories of the city, and Kendall could often see himself, as he sat at some future day, retailing36 to audiences of less traveled Americans than he his adventures with the war-time taxi.
Finally they were obliged to descend37 to the Metro38, which carried them to the Place de l’Opéra, to change there for the short ride to the Palais Royal, where another change was necessary to carry them to the étoile. It was late and they were tired.
“Oh, we have make the beaucoup travail—the so great labor26 thees day,” said Andree, shaking her head. “I have the fatigue39.... But it is well to be weary. Are you weary, Monsieur Ken?”
“I am happy,” he said.
“Yes.... Yes.... That is bes’ of all—to be happy. Tell me, when you have gone to the front—will you theenk of me?”
“In the morning, at noon, in the afternoon—”
“Oh, oh!... It is not possible. But sometimes. Once, twice? For I shall be theenking of you always.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes,” she nodded emphatically, and then—he would have missed it had she omitted it—“and you?”
“More than anybody in the world.”
“More than thees yo’ng American girl?... I have seen her thees day. She is in Paris. Do you know?”
“You must be mistaken, mignonne. Miss Knox is out at the front.”
“It is so.... It is so. I have seen her—thees day. Oh, do you theenk I do not know her? I am ver’ jalouse—mos’ jalouse. She come for take you away from me.”
“Don’t you let her do it,” said Ken happily. “Don’t you dare let her do it.”
“I do not know,” she said, becoming suddenly grave. “You are American—she is American.... Some day...” Then she laughed gaily40, impishly. “Mais these American girl, they do not know how to dress. Oh, it is terrible!”
“You mustn’t judge all American women by these uniforms you see in France,” said Bert. “Just now it is the style in America for women to get into something they think are uniforms. I wonder who designed these Y. M. C. A. uniforms, anyhow?... But really, Mademoiselle Andree, our women do know how to dress.”
“I have never seen,” she said, stubbornly. “Also they do not always wear uniforms, but always they wear their feet. Their feet they cannot take off. Mais non. It is too bad. If only they could leave at home their feet.”
Kendall suspected that American women were suffering for the sins of Maude Knox, so he did not rush to their defense41. He did not want to think about Maude Knox to-night—he wanted to think of no woman but Andree.
“Méchante!” he whispered.
“It is so—what I say,” she said, severely42. “I do not like American women.... I do not like thees girl. She ees ver’ wicked, for she wish to steal you from me.”
The street was very dark. Kendall made youth’s answer to youth’s jealousy43. He lifted her slight form in his arms and kissed her until she returned his kisses.
“There,” he said, “you are punished.”
“It ees ver’ nice to be wicked,” she said. “Thees punishment is ver’ well.”
Maude Knox was banished44. They two found themselves the sole inhabitants of a brightly glowing world....
Next morning Kendall made his way through early assembling crowds to his office, where he was much occupied until noon, making preparations for his trip to the front. Then he was driven through the holiday-making streets crowded with a populace in holiday humor to the barrière, and thence into the country. On every building waved an American flag, in every buttonhole was a tiny American flag, and the appearance of an American military automobile45 was the signal for applause and lifting of hats. Small boys shouted as small boys of all countries shout; friendly old gentlemen waved their canes46; young women smiled broadly or demurely47, invitingly48 or shyly. Kendall felt as if he were enjoying some sort of a triumph, as if this celebration were for him. The frankness and open-heartedness and courtesy of it were delightful49.
They drove rapidly through little villages, between rolling fields cultivated as only the French agriculturist seems to be able to cultivate. The villages, too, were in gala dress and the people in holiday attire50. In one place a brief stop was made. Immediately the car was surrounded by children who shouted eagerly for “penny,” for “gu-um,” for “cigarette.” So it was all over France. Let but an American soldier appear and the children of the neighborhood formed a group about him demanding tribute.
Soon the civil inhabitants disappeared. Whole villages were occupied by billeted troops, poilus and colonials, black-skinned men wearing red fezzes and speaking strange tongues who gave to the picture an exotic tint51. The countryside swarmed52 with soldiers en repos, a zone miles deep crowded with the guardians53 of Paris and of the Channel ports.... Now came forests in whose depths could be caught fleeting54 glimpses of huge ammunition-dumps, skilfully55 camouflaged56, then a wonderful woods, clean as the floor of a kitchen, a forest of magnificent trees, but as well kept as a Michigan peach-orchard.... Dusk descended58, then darkness. The car seemed to be running into a black curtain upon a thread of white cloud. Kendall could not see the length of his nose to one side or the other, but ahead could be discerned that pale cloud avenue, a sort of milky59 way that disappeared itself into blackness a hundred feet away. He was now upon one of those roads of white chalk, deep with dust which arose in clouds and nestled in the hair and eyebrows60 and penetrated61 the very pores of the skin, giving to men the singular appearance of having been carved out of bronze.
Presently the horizon glowed for an instant, as with heat lightning, and glowed again and again. There was a mutter and a grumble63 ahead which was the distant voice of the guns.... Something burst into flower in the sky far ahead, a vivid rose-blossom, then another and another. It was shrapnel, either our own demanding toll65 of a prowling German aeroplane or the enemy searching the air for an Allied66 machine.... The heat lightning became continuous, the roar of the guns a rumble64 without break, almost a single, sustained note.
Ken was riding in the depths of a sea of blackness. To right and left the eyes encountered an impasse67; ahead was only that dim milky way of road and those upsurging lights as the guns answered one another across the desert of No Man’s Land. The car was traveling at breakneck speed. Suddenly came a tremendous snap almost in Ken’s ears, a snap as of a mountain being cracked in twain by giant hands. There was a blinding flash across the road ahead and the air was usurped68 by the scream of a departing shell. A battery by the roadside had taken up its work of the night. Kendall was in the midst of it now. Guns on both sides cracked and roared; projectiles69 screamed over his head, and now and then would come that easily distinguishable sound, the bursting of a German shell....
Presently the road sank below the level of the fields. The car was running between irregular rows of barely discernible lights which appeared to issue from the ground—as indeed they did—glowing from the dugouts of French artillerymen who had burrowed70 into the banks at the side of the road. The moon began to climb so that objects became dimly visible. The scene was like that of some village of prehistoric71 cave-dwellers, save for those breaks in the line of dugouts, cunningly covered with nets of camouflage57, under which lurked72 the cannon73, muzzles74 directed toward the foe75.
Now they stopped in a battered76, deserted77 village which was headquarters of our Twenty-eighth Infantry78, a component79 of that First Division made up of our old regulars—a body of troops whose name will be famous as long as the history of America shall endure. And there, in an enormous dugout entered through a narrow tunnel some fifty feet in length, Ken found shelter for the night. He traversed the tunnel, descended steps carved out of the stone to a level twenty feet below, and found himself in a warren. Here, notwithstanding the hour of the night, were bustle80 and activity. Here were offices where sounded the click of typewriters and the staccato of the telephone; here were passages, bedrooms, a dining-room—a veritable maze81 hewn out of the chalk formation. It was as if Ali Baba’s forty thieves had turned systematic82 and were carrying on their trade according to modern business methods. Yet men worked here as casually83 and nonchalantly, accustomed by long habit, as they would have worked in their New York offices....
Kendall was provided with a cot, and, despite the sounds that penetrated here, the sounds of the Fourth of July celebration of the First Division, he slept....
Early in the morning he awoke, then, after some hours spent with the regimental intelligence officer, he walked abroad to see this historic countryside. Far off to the left the glasses showed him that spot which had been Montdidier; almost straight ahead was the grisly, silent crumble84 known now to the world by the name of Cantigny.
The day was beautiful. It seemed strange, unnatural85 that the country should be so beautiful as well. Even the gun-pits among which Kendall quickly found himself did not detract from the beauty, for they were almost invisible even at a distance of a few yards, only appearing as low mounds86, scarcely differing in color from the surrounding fields. Yet the guns were there under their tents of chicken-wire covered with stained burlap and grasses. Everywhere he looked were these mounds which during the night that had just passed had been uncovered to the sky while shells filled with deadly gas had screamed through intervening miles of air to fall with deadly effect in the German lines.... It had been mustard gas, six thousand rounds of it, he had been told. He was also told it was the first time American gunners had been supplied with that devilishness of war—to celebrate the Fourth.... Now the gun-pits were neat as a New England parlor87, guns were brightly polished. Nothing seemed to have happened there.
He stood above and looked down the slope of the valley, a valley of golden fields, a valley which was a miracle of color. Never had Kendall seen such color, acres upon acres of it, nor such a profusion88 of flowers. Gold and red and white and blue ... and peace! That valley had been spread there for some painter—not for a battle-field. It impressed the inherited mysticism in him—he saw a symbolism in it all. The fields blazed with gorgeous tints89; rectangles acres in extent were red with poppies, not with a sprinkling of poppies here and there, but as with a snowfall of vivid red. Segregated90 in an adjoining field were cornflowers, a carpet of blue; and then another field glaring white with some flower that Kendall did not know.... Other fields there were in which the three flowers mingled91. The panorama92 spoke of peace and beauty.... It was as if the war irritated God until He spread this, His own camouflage of peace, to hide the horrors from His down-gazing eyes.... Or perhaps, as of olden times He had set His rainbow in the sky as a promise to the sons of Noah, so now He planted this living rainbow in the fields as a new and more wonderful promise to all the sons of men ... a promise that His purposes should nevermore demand another war to devastate93 the earth....
Before him, knee-deep in poppies, moved half a dozen figures in khaki.
“The boys are gathering94 flowers for the funeral,” he was told.
“The funeral?...”
“Of the men killed last night....”
Presently, his business completed, he was driving toward Paris, reached Paris in the darkness with a feeling of home-coming and pleasure.... But he was thoughtful, troubled. His sternly believing mother was awake in him, asserting that he had seen with his own eyes a movement of the finger of God—that he had read a sign from Omnipotence95. It weighed him down, filled him not with joyous96 faith, but with Calvinistic gloom to have this assurance that God was actually taking an active interest in His world.... The weight of the knowledge of the existence of a Deity97 was upon him as it had been upon his stern forebears—the knowledge of the existence of a Deity, stern, forbidding, cruel in his revenges and implacable in his demands ... not of such a God as Andree knew—whose eyes might be wet with tears caused by the sufferings of His puppets to whom He had vouchsaved the dubious98 boon99 of freedom of action....
He awoke in the morning as one awakes from an impressive dream, with a feeling of heaviness upon him, a consciousness of his personal existence that made him dull company at breakfast. This humor did not pass away, it was rather laid aside for further reference and obscured by the events and anticipations100 of the day.
“Good trip?” asked Bert.
“Fine! Saw a lot.”
“Wish I could get a crack at it sometime. I haven’t heard a gun go off yet—except in an air raid.... Was anything stirring up there?”
Ken described his experiences of the day and night, and, strangely, from a different viewpoint than that from which he had beheld101 them. Yesterday the thing had been subjective102, symbolical103; to-day it was objective. He described the war he had seen as a tourist might describe some interesting scene in a foreign country—and he rather wondered at himself that he could think of it in that manner.
“When do you meet Andree?” Bert asked.
“Eleven o’clock—at the Place de la Concorde. You and Madeleine are coming along?”
“Sure! We’ll pick you up there at eleven.”
“Anything happen here yesterday?”
“Not a thing. The boches disappointed everybody. I went to one of those dinners the crowd at the union are always piloting a fellow to—this Society of French Homes, or whatever they call it.... Four of us dined with a Madame Lefebvre.”
“Good time?”
“Interesting. Played bridge with three French people, a deputy and two women. None of them spoke a word of English, but we made out pretty well. I won thirty francs.... They were rather upper crust in this town, I guess. Fine house and that sort of thing.”
“I must go to one of those some day,” said Ken, reflectively. “I’ve wondered if we were really seeing Paris—the way the French live.”
“Not if that dinner last night was a sample. I had to lug106 out all my manners. And the women—they sort of made me feel uncomfortable. Dignified107, you know, but very friendly. It was all the family. Old grandmother and her sons and daughters and a few grandchildren. Patriarchal affair.”
“I want to see that sort of thing. People have told me that French family life is beautiful.... One wouldn’t think it to judge from what we’ve seen.”
“I don’t know about the beautiful,” said Bert, and Ken registered a thought that Bert would not be likely to notice domestic beauties, “but there was something fine about it. I liked it.... That old grandmother was bully108. They were all so doggone respectful.... And there was a young lieutenant109, a grandson—had his face shot away. Nothing left but his mouth and one eye. Wore a big triangular110 patch over his face. He must have been quite a fellow, though. Had the Croix de Guerre and the Legion of Honor and the Médaille Militaire. Just been married, too—to a mighty111 nice little girl—one of these home bodies, looked as though. And, by Jove! she acted like she was a heap in love with him. It sort of got me—especially when everybody in the room took the opportunity at some time during the evening to tell me that she never met him until after he was mutilated.... I don’t believe that sort of girl would pick up with a fellow, somehow. And I know mighty well her mother and grandmother never would have. I guess there are all kinds of French people, just the same as there are Americans....”
“Of course,” said Ken, out of his abysmal112 ignorance. Then, defensively, “Maybe these aristocrats113 are different from the girls we know, but, I don’t care how they live or how straitlaced they are, they’re no better than Andree.... Andree’s good.”
“Sure,” said Bert, “and you’re dotty.... Meet you at eleven.”
Ken wrote a few letters home, one to his mother in which he went rather to descriptions and very little to personal matters. He spoke little of France and the French, but rather made it appear that he was living in a Paris inhabited exclusively by American soldiers who were all so busy with the war that they had no time to do anything else but work and sleep. He did mention seeing Notre Dame105 ... which was a church, and of undoubted historic interest. It was a very circumspect114 letter, and not at all confidential115.... But it is an undoubted fact that mothers and fathers have to earn by their conduct toward their children those confidences which they seem to fancy are theirs by right. Ken could have told his father anything—everything. But his mother—somehow it was difficult for him to compel himself to make the most trivial disclosure to her. Her attitude toward him and toward the world had created that difficulty. The young are naturally confidential....
Then he went to meet Andree.
One of the delights of Ken’s acquaintance with Andree was that each meeting with her seemed a fresh adventure; there was a sameness about these meetings. Andree always appeared just so, and conducted herself just so. He could foretell116 with exactitude what her every movement and gesture and word would be when she did appear. But somehow, probably unconsciously, she was able to impart to every rendezvous117 a freshness, an air of mystery, something elusive118 and elfin that made them, no matter how often repeated, always alluring119, exciting, delightful. Her sudden appearances out of a life of which he knew nothing and her disappearances120 back into that life lifted this affair above the level of all other affairs, imparting to it something of the occult, giving play to the imagination.... Ken cherished this illusion and, therefore, though often tempted121, he asked no questions. Even now he did not know her name—only Andree.
Presently she appeared, just as he knew she would appear, walking very erect122, with little steps that seemed almost stiff, her eyes cast downward or staring straight before her and seeming to see nothing whatever. He knew that she would approach within reach of his hand before she gave sign of recognition, and then she would regard him with grave query123 as if to ascertain124 if it were really he, and if, as she feared, she was not welcome. And then she would smile timidly, without taking her eyes from his, and shake hands with quaint formality, and ask how he carried himself. If she had changed any particular of it he would have been alarmed, would have felt a sense of loss.
“Bert and Madeleine will meet us here,” he said.
“It is well.” She smiled and nodded. “You have been at the front?”
“Yes.”
“You are ver’ fatigué perhaps?”
“No. I had a bully night’s sleep, and I’m ready for anything. We must have a regular party to-day. We’ll paint the town and all the suburbs.”
“Oh, so ver’ fast. I do not onderstan’.... I do not onderstan’. You mus’ speak more slow.... Give me the dictionnaire.”
“It was nothing.... Are you happy?”
“Are you not here?” she said, gravely.
There was something so timid, yet so confident about her, so gentle, so child-womanly, that the realization125 of it struck Kendall almost with the force of an accusation126.... It was the forerunner127 of self-accusation which might have come then and there, had not Bert and Madeleine turned the corner and waved to them. Immediately the girls were chattering128 French, after their inevitable129 formal handshake.
“Where to, children?” asked Bert.
They turned to the girls. “Where are we going?” Ken asked.
“Oh, out of the city. Let us go to the Bois—for the long day.”
“Oui,” agreed Madeleine. “The Bois—every one—tout le monde—make themselves to go to the Bois.”
So, after some difficulty, they persuaded the driver of a voiture to drive them up the Champs élysées and the length of the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne to the gates of the park. There the cocher drew up to the curb130 inexorably and stopped without paying the least attention to the protests of the Americans.
“We must get down,” said Andree. “He cannot go inside.”
“But there are voitures inside—lots of them. Why can’t he go in?”
She shrugged her shoulders, but arose, and Madeleine followed her. They knew the way of the Paris coachmen—or it may have been a rule, or an agreement for the division of patronage131. At any rate, they got down and paid the absurdly low fare. Then, walking two by two, they entered the famous park.
The walks near the entrance were crowded, but as they penetrated the city’s playground the congestion132 became less dense133. But it did seem as if Madeleine were right, that all the world had come to the Bois that day. Every seat, and they were scattered134 about generously, was occupied. Back among the trees family parties had preempted135 shady glades136 and were spreading lunches. Buxom137 young women played battledore with poilus on permission, or engaged in what they seriously believed to be tennis with the most profound earnestness. This tennis delighted Bert, who insisted upon stopping to watch more than one game. The players had no nets—only rackets and a ball. With these they placed themselves sometimes as much as twenty feet apart and then lobbed the ball back and forth138 with such a seriousness and intensity139 that it seemed they were playing for life itself.... Children were everywhere, and stout140 old ladies who drowsed and lean old men who had taken off their coats and were tormented141 by insects.... Out on the pavements men and women and children rode furiously by on bicycles, all crouching142 apprehensively143 over their handlebars and pedaling for dear life.... Youths in French uniforms made vigorous and unashamed love to their sweethearts.... It was very hot.
A few minutes’ walk brought them to the lake, steaming with the heat of the day, its surface churned by the unskilled oars144 of pleasure-seekers. On the opposite shore was a dense crowd packed about a booth, awaiting their turns to go upon the water and suffer. Two or three huge bateaux capable of seating a score of people made little voyages up and down, each propelled by one sweating, coatless individual who pulled the enormous weight at such terrific speed that a circuit of the pond might have been made in an hour. The passengers sat packed together in blissful enjoyment145.... Those who took rowboats seemed to have a positive genius for loading them in such a way as to make them unmanageable. In the middle was an elderly man, very stout, with two young girls. One girl rowed while her companions sat as far into the bow as possible, lifting the stern high in the air, and making any progress except a sort of whirligig motion impossible. There were collisions, shouts, laughter, screams—and an intolerable heat. But the crowd was happy as only a Parisian crowd can be happy. They had not the least fear of making themselves appear absurd; they went about their pleasure in a determined146, do-or-die spirit, and everybody was so satisfied, so happy, so charming that Ken was delighted and tried to tell Andree how pleased he was by aid of French, English, and the dictionary, but only succeeding in bewildering the young lady utterly147.... He had a suspicion that both Andree and Madeleine looked at those boats longingly148, but with characteristic American terror of making himself look ridiculous he would not have gone upon that water if they had fallen on their knees to plead with him....
After a time they managed by bribery149 and cajolery to persuade a cocher to drive them about the park and an hour or two later got down near to a toy railroad with a tiny engine which pulled crowded trains along a child’s track. Bert, whose inhibitions were less pronounced than Ken’s, insisted upon riding. The girls boarded the train as a matter of course, with no trace of self-consciousness, but as they bowled along past crowds that waved and pointed104 and laughed, Ken felt like the father of all idiots.... Finally they arrived at the zoo, which Andree insisted upon inspecting.
The cages in the zoo which attracted the crowds contained dogs! Indeed, dogs were the backbone150 and almost the sum total of the animals to be seen. They were caged like bears and ran around and around behind their iron bars with the ceaseless gait of wolves. It rather revolted Kendall, especially to see a beautiful English setter in such an environment. There were setters, Danes, bulls, fox-terriers—and the crowds stood and stared and gasped151 and exclaimed as if they gazed at the behemoth of Holy Writ32....
But it was all fascinating to Ken, all different and strange. Here was France again! He was seeing something foreign, not of the Middle West, and it was droll152 and incomprehensible to him. He did not speculate on what your Frenchman might have thought of a Sunday crowd at Coney Island or the Bronx Zoo or in Belle153 Isle154 Park in his own Detroit.... He reveled in it, drinking in eagerly the sensation that he was in another world peopled by incomprehensible beings who functioned in an incomprehensible manner.
Here at least was none of the depression and woe155 of war.... Had it not been for the presence of uniforms, one would have forgotten war. Ken wondered if these people had been able to forget it—and then reflected that some of these that he saw might be killed before another dawn by bombs dropped upon their sleeping homes from ruthless German aeroplanes.... All was lightness and joyousness156 now; in a few hours every individual here might be cowering157 in a cellar, damp with the sweat of fear of imminent158 slaughter159....
They dined expensively at a table under the trees and near to a fountain, and Andree exclaimed at the extravagance of it and declared that for days to come they must satisfy their hunger on bread and water.... They were very gay and very young. For that one day all cares and apprehensions160 had taken flight; they simply did what occurred to them, and the word responsibility was scratched from their vocabularies.
After a time they found a pleasant spot among the trees and sat down to rest, for such a day is very tiring.
“Thees day has been ver’ well,” said Andree, nodding her head three times by way of punctuation161.
“I wish all days were like it,” Madeleine said in French.
Andree regarded her gravely a moment, then shook her head emphatically. “No. It would not be well. The days like thees day are ver’ nice bicause they are seldom. To-day is for nothing but only happiness—yes. But it is not possible to be so happy to-day if we are not ver’ unhappy some other day.”
“Do you think that unhappiness makes happiness?” said Bert, with a laugh.
“But yes, monsieur. If there is not sadness there is no joy. It is of a truthfulness162. Certainement. How do you know you are happy? It is bicause you theenk of days when you are ver’ miserable163, and thees day is so different from that day. If all days shall be like to-day, then we shall be—how do you say?—we shall be bored.”
“But if one is very miserable after he has been happy?” said Ken.
Andree looked at him quickly as if trying to penetrate62 to the thought that prompted the question.
“It is well,” she said, softly. “On the unhappy day you theenk often of the happy day—it makes the unhappiness to be less. After many, many days one may forget the unhappiness. The good God has made it a law. The sorrow it becomes not so sharp. Even the ver’ greatest grief becomes jus’ a theeng to be remembered. But a happiness! Oh, my friend, that live forever. A happiness cannot be made to fade. Always it live and always it is ver’ beautiful and makes itself to give other happiness.... That is why,” she said, softly, to Ken, “that I have not great fear to love you. Do you see?... W’en it is ended, thees love of ours, it will be ver’ sad, but the sadness it will become soft and make itself to fade after many year. The happiness, such happiness as thees ver’ day, it will be always....”
“But,” said Ken, suddenly depressed164 and thoughtful, “isn’t there a sorrow so great that it cannot be endured?”
“Oh yes, yes! But that is terrible. I have thought many times of such a sorrow. There is only one like that. It is to love ver’ much and trust ver’ much and be ver’ much happy, and then, one day, to know that one has been deceive’ entirely165. To know that the friend one love’ was on’y making to pretend and did not himself love.... That one could not bear.... Then all the little moments of happiness with him would make themselves to be black and wicked ... and one must die....”
Kendall lifted her hand and touched it with his lips and looked into her eyes. “I do not know what will come, mignonne ... but whatever does come, it must not be that.... See, I am speaking the truth so that you may remember it always.... I love you.”
For a moment she returned his gaze gravely, then into her dark-shadowed eyes came a glow that was real happiness, her lips smiled and she leaned a little toward him.
“I believe,” she said, softly, “and it is ver’ well....”
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1
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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2
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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3
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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sophistry
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| n.诡辩 | |
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5
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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6
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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7
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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8
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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9
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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10
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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11
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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12
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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13
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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14
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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15
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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17
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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18
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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19
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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20
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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21
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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22
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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23
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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24
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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25
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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26
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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27
subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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28
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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29
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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perversity
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| n.任性；刚愎自用 | |
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31
depleted
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| adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
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32
writ
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| n.命令状，书面命令 | |
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33
conveyances
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| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
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34
irritations
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| n.激怒( irritation的名词复数 )；恼怒；生气；令人恼火的事 | |
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35
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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36
retailing
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| n.零售业v.零售(retail的现在分词) | |
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37
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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38
metro
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| n.地铁；adj.大都市的；(METRO)麦德隆(财富500强公司之一总部所在地德国，主要经营零售) | |
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39
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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40
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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41
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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42
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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43
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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44
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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46
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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47
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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48
invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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49
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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50
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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51
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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52
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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53
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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54
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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55
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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56
camouflaged
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| v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 )；掩盖；伪装，掩饰 | |
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57
camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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58
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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59
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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60
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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61
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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62
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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63
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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64
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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65
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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66
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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67
impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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68
usurped
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| 篡夺，霸占( usurp的过去式和过去分词 )； 盗用； 篡夺，篡权 | |
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69
projectiles
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| n.抛射体( projectile的名词复数 )；（炮弹、子弹等）射弹，（火箭等）自动推进的武器 | |
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70
burrowed
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的过去式和过去分词 )；翻寻 | |
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71
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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72
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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73
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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74
muzzles
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| 枪口( muzzle的名词复数 )； （防止动物咬人的）口套； （四足动物的）鼻口部； （狗）等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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75
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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76
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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77
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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78
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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79
component
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| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
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80
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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81
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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82
systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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83
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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84
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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85
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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86
mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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87
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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88
profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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89
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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90
segregated
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| 分开的； 被隔离的 | |
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91
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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92
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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93
devastate
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| v.使荒芜，破坏，压倒 | |
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94
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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95
omnipotence
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| n.全能，万能，无限威力 | |
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96
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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97
deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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98
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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99
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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100
anticipations
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| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
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101
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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102
subjective
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| a.主观(上)的，个人的 | |
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103
symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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104
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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105
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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106
lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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107
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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108
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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109
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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110
triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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111
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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112
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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113
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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114
circumspect
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| adj.慎重的，谨慎的 | |
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115
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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116
foretell
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| v.预言，预告，预示 | |
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117
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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118
elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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119
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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120
disappearances
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| n.消失( disappearance的名词复数 )；丢失；失踪；失踪案 | |
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121
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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122
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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123
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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124
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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125
realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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126
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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127
forerunner
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| n.前身，先驱（者），预兆，祖先 | |
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128
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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129
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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130
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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131
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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132
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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133
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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134
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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135
preempted
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| v.先占( preempt的过去式和过去分词 )；取代；先取；先发制人 | |
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136
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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137
buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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138
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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139
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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141
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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142
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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143
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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144
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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145
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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146
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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147
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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148
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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149
bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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150
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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151
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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152
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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153
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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154
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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155
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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156
joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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157
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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158
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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159
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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160
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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161
punctuation
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| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
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162
truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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163
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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164
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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165
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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