"I am sure I shall like it," he replied, wondering at his own depression of spirits.
The maid brought him coffee and rolls. He returned the vacant glance of the big-headed young man and acknowledged diffidently the salutes3 of the snuffy old gentlemen. He did not try to finish his coffee, and sat crumbling4 a roll, unconscious of the sympathetic glances of Madame Marotte, who had tact5 enough not to bother him.
Presently a maid entered with a tray on which were balanced two bowls of chocolate, and the snuffy old gentlemen leered at her ankles. The maid deposited the chocolate at a table near the window and smiled at Hastings. Then a thin young lady, followed by her counterpart in all except years, marched into the room and took the table near the window. They were evidently American, but Hastings, if he expected any sign of recognition, was disappointed. To be ignored by compatriots intensified7 his depression. He fumbled8 with his knife and looked at his plate.
The thin young lady was talkative enough. She was quite aware of Hastings' presence, ready to be flattered if he looked at her, but on the other hand she felt her superiority, for she had been three weeks in Paris and he, it was easy to see, had not yet unpacked9 his steamer-trunk.
Her conversation was complacent10. She argued with her mother upon the relative merits of the Louvre and the Bon Marché, but her mother's part of the discussion was mostly confined to the observation, "Why, Susie!"
The snuffy old gentlemen had left the room in a body, outwardly polite and inwardly raging. They could not endure the Americans, who filled the room with their chatter11.
The big-headed young man looked after them with a knowing cough, murmuring, "Gay old birds!"
"They look like bad old men, Mr. Bladen," said the girl.
To this Mr. Bladen smiled and said, "They've had their day," in a tone which implied that he was now having his.
"And that's why they all have baggy12 eyes," cried the girl. "I think it's a shame for young gentlemen—"
"Why, Susie!" said the mother, and the conversation lagged.
After a while Mr. Bladen threw down the Petit Journal, which he daily studied at the expense of the house, and turning to Hastings, started to make himself agreeable. He began by saying, "I see you are American."
To this brilliant and original opening, Hastings, deadly homesick, replied gratefully, and the conversation was judiciously13 nourished by observations from Miss Susie Byng distinctly addressed to Mr. Bladen. In the course of events Miss Susie, forgetting to address herself exclusively to Mr. Bladen, and Hastings replying to her general question, the entente14 cordiale was established, and Susie and her mother extended a protectorate over what was clearly neutral territory.
"Mr. Hastings, you must not desert the pension every evening as Mr. Bladen does. Paris is an awful place for young gentlemen, and Mr. Bladen is a horrid15 cynic."
Mr. Bladen looked gratified.
Hastings answered, "I shall be at the studio all day, and I imagine I shall be glad enough to come back at night."
Mr. Bladen, who, at a salary of fifteen dollars a week, acted as agent for the Pewly Manufacturing Company of Troy, N.Y., smiled a sceptical smile and withdrew to keep an appointment with a customer on the Boulevard Magenta16.
Hastings walked into the garden with Mrs. Byng and Susie, and, at their invitation, sat down in the shade before the iron gate.
The chestnut17 trees still bore their fragrant18 spikes19 of pink and white, and the bees hummed among the roses, trellised on the white-walled house.
A faint freshness was in the air. The watering carts moved up and down the street, and a clear stream bubbled over the spotless gutters21 of the rue22 de la Grande Chaumière. The sparrows were merry along the curb-stones, taking bath after bath in the water and ruffling23 their feathers with delight. In a walled garden across the street a pair of blackbirds whistled among the almond trees.
Hastings swallowed the lump in his throat, for the song of the birds and the ripple24 of water in a Paris gutter20 brought back to him the sunny meadows of Millbrook.
"That's a blackbird," observed Miss Byng; "see him there on the bush with pink blossoms. He's all black except his bill, and that looks as if it had been dipped in an omelet, as some Frenchman says—"
"Why, Susie!" said Mrs. Byng.
"That garden belongs to a studio inhabited by two Americans," continued the girl serenely25, "and I often see them pass. They seem to need a great many models, mostly young and feminine—"
"Why, Susie!"
"Perhaps they prefer painting that kind, but I don't see why they should invite five, with three more young gentlemen, and all get into two cabs and drive away singing. This street," she continued, "is dull. There is nothing to see except the garden and a glimpse of the Boulevard Montparnasse through the rue de la Grande Chaumière. No one ever passes except a policeman. There is a convent on the corner."
"I thought it was a Jesuit College," began Hastings, but was at once overwhelmed with a Baedecker description of the place, ending with, "On one side stand the palatial26 hotels of Jean Paul Laurens and Guillaume Bouguereau, and opposite, in the little Passage Stanislas, Carolus Duran paints the masterpieces which charm the world."
The blackbird burst into a ripple of golden throaty notes, and from some distant green spot in the city an unknown wild-bird answered with a frenzy27 of liquid trills until the sparrows paused in their ablutions to look up with restless chirps28.
Then a butterfly came and sat on a cluster of heliotrope29 and waved his crimson-banded wings in the hot sunshine. Hastings knew him for a friend, and before his eyes there came a vision of tall mulleins and scented30 milkweed alive with painted wings, a vision of a white house and woodbine-covered piazza,—a glimpse of a man reading and a woman leaning over the pansy bed,—and his heart was full. He was startled a moment later by Miss Byng.
"I believe you are homesick!" Hastings blushed. Miss Byng looked at him with a sympathetic sigh and continued: "Whenever I felt homesick at first I used to go with mamma and walk in the Luxembourg Gardens. I don't know why it is, but those old-fashioned gardens seemed to bring me nearer home than anything in this artificial city."
"But they are full of marble statues," said Mrs. Byng mildly; "I don't see the resemblance myself."
"Where is the Luxembourg?" inquired Hastings after a silence.
"Come with me to the gate," said Miss Byng. He rose and followed her, and she pointed6 out the rue Vavin at the foot of the street.
"You pass by the convent to the right," she smiled; and Hastings went.
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1
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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2
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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3
salutes
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| n.致敬，欢迎，敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎，致敬( salute的第三人称单数 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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7
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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9
unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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12
baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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13
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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14
entente
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| n.协定；有协定关系的各国 | |
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15
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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16
magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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17
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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19
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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21
gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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23
ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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24
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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25
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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26
palatial
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| adj.宫殿般的，宏伟的 | |
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27
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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28
chirps
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的第三人称单数 )； 啾； 啾啾 | |
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29
heliotrope
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| n.天芥菜；淡紫色 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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