Around the fountain, children and white-capped nurses armed with bamboo poles were pushing toy boats, whose sails hung limp in the sunshine. A dark policeman, wearing red epaulettes and a dress sword, watched them for a while and then went away to remonstrate9 with a young man who had unchained his dog. The dog was pleasantly occupied in rubbing grass and dirt into his back while his legs waved into the air.
"Well, Captain," smiled the young fellow.
"What do you come and complain to me for?"
"If you don't chain him I'll take him," shouted the policeman.
"What's that to me, mon capitaine?"
"Wha—t! Isn't that bull-dog yours?"
"If it was, don't you suppose I'd chain him?"
The officer glared for a moment in silence, then deciding that as he was a student he was wicked, grabbed at the dog, who promptly12 dodged13. Around and around the flower-beds they raced, and when the officer came too near for comfort, the bull-dog cut across a flower-bed, which perhaps was not playing fair.
The young man was amused, and the dog also seemed to enjoy the exercise.
The policeman noticed this and decided14 to strike at the fountain-head of the evil. He stormed up to the student and said, "As the owner of this public nuisance I arrest you!"
That was a poser. It was useless to attempt to catch the dog until three gardeners lent a hand, but then the dog simply ran away and disappeared in the rue16 de Medici.
The policeman shambled off to find consolation17 among the white-capped nurses, and the student, looking at his watch, stood up yawning. Then catching18 sight of Hastings, he smiled and bowed. Hastings walked over to the marble, laughing.
"Why, Clifford," he said, "I didn't recognize you."
"It's my moustache," sighed the other. "I sacrificed it to humour a whim19 of—of—a friend. What do you think of my dog?"
"Then he is yours?" cried Hastings.
"Of course. It's a pleasant change for him, this playing tag with policemen, but he is known now and I'll have to stop it. He's gone home. He always does when the gardeners take a hand. It's a pity; he's fond of rolling on lawns." Then they chatted for a moment of Hastings' prospects20, and Clifford politely offered to stand his sponsor at the studio.
"You see, old tabby, I mean Dr. Byram, told me about you before I met you," explained Clifford, "and Elliott and I will be glad to do anything we can." Then looking at his watch again, he muttered, "I have just ten minutes to catch the Versailles train; au revoir," and started to go, but catching sight of a girl advancing by the fountain, took off his hat with a confused smile.
"Why are you not at Versailles?" she said, with an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of Hastings' presence.
"I—I'm going," murmured Clifford.
For a moment they faced each other, and then Clifford, very red, stammered21, "With your permission I have the honour of presenting to you my friend, Monsieur Hastings."
Hastings bowed low. She smiled very sweetly, but there was something of malice22 in the quiet inclination23 of her small Parisienne head.
"I could have wished," she said, "that Monsieur Clifford might spare me more time when he brings with him so charming an American."
"Must—must I go, Valentine?" began Clifford.
"Certainly," she replied.
Clifford took his leave with very bad grace, wincing24, when she added, "And give my dearest love to Cécile!" As he disappeared in the rue d'Assas, the girl turned as if to go, but then suddenly remembering Hastings, looked at him and shook her head.
"Monsieur Clifford is so perfectly25 hare-brained," she smiled, "it is embarrassing sometimes. You have heard, of course, all about his success at the Salon26?"
He looked puzzled and she noticed it.
"You have been to the Salon, of course?"
"Why, no," he answered, "I only arrived in Paris three days ago."
She seemed to pay little heed27 to his explanation, but continued: "Nobody imagined he had the energy to do anything good, but on varnishing28 day the Salon was astonished by the entrance of Monsieur Clifford, who strolled about as bland29 as you please with an orchid30 in his buttonhole, and a beautiful picture on the line."
She smiled to herself at the reminiscence, and looked at the fountain.
"Monsieur Bouguereau told me that Monsieur Julian was so astonished that he only shook hands with Monsieur Clifford in a dazed manner, and actually forgot to pat him on the back! Fancy," she continued with much merriment, "fancy papa Julian forgetting to pat one on the back."
Hastings, wondering at her acquaintance with the great Bouguereau, looked at her with respect. "May I ask," he said diffidently, "whether you are a pupil of Bouguereau?"
"I?" she said in some surprise. Then she looked at him curiously31. Was he permitting himself the liberty of joking on such short acquaintance?
His pleasant serious face questioned hers.
"You surely study art?" he said.
"Because you speak as if you did."
"You are making fun of me," she said, "and it is not good taste."
She stopped, confused, as he coloured to the roots of his hair.
"How long have you been in Paris?" she said at length.
"Three days," he replied gravely.
"But—but—surely you are not a nouveau! You speak French too well!"
Then after a pause, "Really are you a nouveau?"
"I am," he said.
She sat down on the marble bench lately occupied by Clifford, and tilting35 her parasol over her small head looked at him.
"I don't believe it."
He felt the compliment, and for a moment hesitated to declare himself one of the despised. Then mustering36 up his courage, he told her how new and green he was, and all with a frankness which made her blue eyes open very wide and her lips part in the sweetest of smiles.
"You have never seen a studio?"
"Never."
"Nor a model?"
"No."
"How funny," she said solemnly. Then they both laughed.
"And you," he said, "have seen studios?"
"Hundreds."
"And models?"
"Millions."
"And you know Bouguereau?"
"Yes, and Henner, and Constant and Laurens, and Puvis de Chavannes and Dagnan and Courtois, and—and all the rest of them!"
"And yet you say you are not an artist."
"Pardon," she said gravely, "did I say I was not?"
"Won't you tell me?" he hesitated.
At first she looked at him, shaking her head and smiling, then of a sudden her eyes fell and she began tracing figures with her parasol in the gravel34 at her feet. Hastings had taken a place on the seat, and now, with his elbows on his knees, sat watching the spray drifting above the fountain jet. A small boy, dressed as a sailor, stood poking37 his yacht and crying, "I won't go home! I won't go home!" His nurse raised her hands to Heaven.
Presently the nurse captured the boat, and the small boy stood at bay.
"Monsieur René, when you decide to come here you may have your boat."
"Give me my boat, I say," he cried, "and don't call me René, for my name's Randall and you know it!"
"Hello!" said Hastings,—"Randall?—that's English."
"I am American," announced the boy in perfectly good English, turning to look at Hastings, "and she's such a fool she calls me René because mamma calls me Ranny—"
Here he dodged the exasperated40 nurse and took up his station behind Hastings, who laughed, and catching him around the waist lifted him into his lap.
"One of my countrymen," he said to the girl beside him. He smiled while he spoke41, but there was a queer feeling in his throat.
"Don't you see the stars and stripes on my yacht?" demanded Randall. Sure enough, the American colours hung limply under the nurse's arm.
"Oh," cried the girl, "he is charming," and impulsively42 stooped to kiss him, but the infant Randall wriggled43 out of Hastings' arms, and his nurse pounced44 upon him with an angry glance at the girl.
She reddened and then bit her lips as the nurse, with eyes still fixed45 on her, dragged the child away and ostentatiously wiped his lips with her handkerchief.
Then she stole a look at Hastings and bit her lip again.
"What an ill-tempered woman!" he said. "In America, most nurses are flattered when people kiss their children."
For an instant she tipped the parasol to hide her face, then closed it with a snap and looked at him defiantly47.
"Do you think it strange that she objected?"
"Why not?" he said in surprise.
Again she looked at him with quick searching eyes.
His eyes were clear and bright, and he smiled back, repeating, "Why not?"
"You are droll," she murmured, bending her head.
"Why?"
But she made no answer, and sat silent, tracing curves and circles in the dust with her parasol. After a while he said—"I am glad to see that young people have so much liberty here. I understood that the French were not at all like us. You know in America—or at least where I live in Milbrook, girls have every liberty,—go out alone and receive their friends alone, and I was afraid I should miss it here. But I see how it is now, and I am glad I was mistaken."
She raised her eyes to his and kept them there.
He continued pleasantly—"Since I have sat here I have seen a lot of pretty girls walking alone on the terrace there,—and then you are alone too. Tell me, for I do not know French customs,—do you have the liberty of going to the theatre without a chaperone?"
For a long time she studied his face, and then with a trembling smile said, "Why do you ask me?"
"Yes," she replied indifferently, "I know."
He waited for an answer, but getting none, decided that perhaps she had misunderstood him.
"I hope you don't think I mean to presume on our short acquaintance," he began,—"in fact it is very odd but I don't know your name. When Mr. Clifford presented me he only mentioned mine. Is that the custom in France?"
"It is the custom in the Latin Quarter," she said with a queer light in her eyes. Then suddenly she began talking almost feverishly49.
"You must know, Monsieur Hastings, that we are all un peu sans gêne here in the Latin Quarter. We are very Bohemian, and etiquette50 and ceremony are out of place. It was for that Monsieur Clifford presented you to me with small ceremony, and left us together with less,—only for that, and I am his friend, and I have many friends in the Latin Quarter, and we all know each other very well—and I am not studying art, but—but—"
"But what?" he said, bewildered.
"I shall not tell you,—it is a secret," she said with an uncertain smile. On both cheeks a pink spot was burning, and her eyes were very bright.
Then in a moment her face fell. "Do you know Monsieur Clifford very intimately?"
"Not very."
After a while she turned to him, grave and a little pale.
"My name is Valentine—Valentine Tissot. Might—might I ask a service of you on such very short acquaintance?"
"Oh," he cried, "I should be honoured."
"It is only this," she said gently, "it is not much. Promise me not to speak to Monsieur Clifford about me. Promise me that you will speak to no one about me."
"I promise," he said, greatly puzzled.
"But," he began, "I had wished, I had hoped that you might give Monsieur Clifford permission to bring me, to present me at your house."
"My—my house!" she repeated.
"I mean, where you live, in fact, to present me to your family."
The change in the girl's face shocked him.
"I beg your pardon," he cried, "I have hurt you."
And as quick as a flash she understood him because she was a woman.
"My parents are dead," she said.
Presently he began again, very gently.
"I cannot," she answered. Then glancing up at him, "I am sorry; I should like to; but believe me. I cannot."
"It isn't because I don't wish to. I—I like you; you are very kind to me."
"Kind?" he cried, surprised and puzzled.
"I like you," she said slowly, "and we will see each other sometimes if you will."
"At friends' houses."
"No, not at friends' houses."
"Where?"
"Why," he cried, "in Paris you are much more liberal in your views than we are."
She looked at him curiously.
"Yes, we are very Bohemian."
"I think it is charming," he declared.
"You see, we shall be in the best of society," she ventured timidly, with a pretty gesture toward the statues of the dead queens, ranged in stately ranks above the terrace.
He looked at her, delighted, and she brightened at the success of her innocent little pleasantry.
"Indeed," she smiled, "I shall be well chaperoned, because you see we are under the protection of the gods themselves; look, there are Apollo, and Juno, and Venus, on their pedestals," counting them on her small gloved fingers, "and Ceres, Hercules, and—but I can't make out—"
Hastings turned to look up at the winged god under whose shadow they were seated.
"Why, it's Love," he said.
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收听单词发音
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1
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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thickets
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| n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 )；丛状物 | |
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observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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domes
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| n.圆屋顶( dome的名词复数 )；像圆屋顶一样的东西；圆顶体育场 | |
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7
mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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remonstrate
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| v.抗议，规劝 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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14
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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disclaim
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| v.放弃权利，拒绝承认 | |
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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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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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varnishing
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| 在（某物）上涂清漆( varnish的现在分词 ) | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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orchid
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| n.兰花，淡紫色 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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mustering
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的现在分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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37
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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40
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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41
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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42
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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43
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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44
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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45
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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46
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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47
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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48
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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50
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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51
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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52
displease
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| vt.使不高兴，惹怒；n.不悦，不满，生气 | |
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53
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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