“They amuse me,” she told herself. “Especially the old man. And yet, I wonder if amuse is just the right word. He tells prodigious1 lies. I wonder if he really means you to believe them. And yet, who would not love him?
“A cup of coffee on a stool,” she concluded. “Where’s the harm in that? He may tell me other stories.”
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A cup of coffee on a stool was exactly what it turned out to be. The young host made no apologies as he bowed the little French girl to the nearest lunch counter and gave her his hand as she mounted the high seat.
Petite Jeanne ordered sugar wafers, the others ordered doughnuts, and they all had coffee.
Dan Baker2 told no stories over that coffee. It was Angelo who did the talking until he hit upon the fact that Jeanne had traveled with gypsies. Then his big dark eyes lighted with a strange fire as he demanded:
“Tell me about that. Tell me all about it!”
Petite Jeanne was tempted3 not to tell. But the coffee was truly fine, and this was to be her lucky day. Why begin it by refusing such a simple request by a friendly young man?
She told her story, told it very well, told of her wanderings across France in a gypsy van. Once more she danced with her bear down country lanes and across village squares. She sang for pennies at fairs and carnivals4. She haunted the streets of Paris.
“Beautiful Paris. Marvelous, matchless, beautiful city of my dreams!” Dan Baker murmured, even as she rambled6 on.
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Jeanne loved him for it. For her, Paris would always remain the most beautiful city in all the world.
As she told her story the dark eyes of the Italian youth, Angelo, were ever upon her. Yet his look was not an offensive one. So impersonal7 was it that he might have been looking at a marble statue. Yet there was a burning fire in his eyes, the fire of hope, of a new born dream. In that dream he was laying plans, plans for her, Petite Jeanne; a play, his play; a light opera, and what a light opera it would be!
“There!” Jeanne exclaimed as she hopped8 nimbly off her stool. “I have told you my story. It is a happy little, sad little story, isn’t it? As all true stories must be. There have been for me many moments of happiness. And who in all the world can hope for more than that?”
“You speak the truth, child.” Dan Baker smiled. In that smile there was something so full of meaning, so suggestive of a kindly9 soul grown mellow10 with time, that Jeanne wished to stand on tiptoe and kiss that wrinkled face.
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Instead, she patted his hand and murmured: “Thank you so much for such a lovely time and for those wonderful, wonderful stories.”
“But you are not leaving us so soon?” protested the young Italian.
“I must. This is to be my luckee day. Strange, mysterious happenings have come to me. More will come. I have an engagement to meet a new friend. She will take me to a sale. There I shall buy a package at auction11. What is in the package? Who knows? Perhaps I shall purchase two, or even three. What will these contain? Who knows? Much, I am sure. For this is my luckee day.”
She sang these last words as she danced out of the lunch room.
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The others followed. “But you will see me again,” pleaded the young Italian. “You are to be in my play, my light opera. I shall write it at once, around you; you only and him, my white-haired friend. It shall be about your beautiful Paree. And oh, how wonderful it shall be! It has all come to me as you told your story. It is wonderful! Marvelous! I have only to write it. And I shall write it with an electric pen that spits fire. You shall see!
“Only grant me this!” In his excitement he waved his hands wildly. Petite Jeanne could have loved him for that; for is it not thus they do in her beloved France? “Grant me this!” he pleaded. “Come to my studio to-night. When your lucky day is over. Then the night shall be more fortunate than the day.
“See!” he exclaimed as he read doubt in her eyes. “It is all right. My white-haired friend will be there. And if you wish—”
“All right,” said the girl impulsively12, “I will come. I will bring my friend.”
“Yes, yes,” he agreed eagerly. “Bring your friends. Bring many friends. We shall have a party by the open fire. We shall have tea and biscuits and preserves from my native land.”
“No,” said the little French girl, as a teasing smile played about her lips. “I will bring one friend, only one. And she is big as a policeman, and so strong! Mon Dieu! She is a physical director. She can swim a mile, and skate like a man. And, oh, la, la! You shall see her.”
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At that she went dancing away.
“She was teasing you,” said the old man.
“But she’s a marvel5!”
“Yes. She is all that. And you will write a play for us?”
“I will write one.”
“And where shall we open? In Peoria?”
“Peoria? Chicago!”
“But I have never played in a great city. I am a—”
“In this life,” the youth broke in, “it is not what you have been that counts. It is what you are going to be.
“In three months you will see your name beside that other one, Petite Jeanne, and men will fight at the box office for tickets. You shall see!”
The old man said no more. But as they walked away, he squared his bent13 shoulders and took on for a time quite a military air.
点击收听单词发音
1 prodigious | |
adj.惊人的,奇妙的;异常的;巨大的;庞大的 | |
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2 baker | |
n.面包师 | |
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3 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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4 carnivals | |
狂欢节( carnival的名词复数 ); 嘉年华会; 激动人心的事物的组合; 五彩缤纷的颜色组合 | |
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5 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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6 rambled | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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7 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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8 hopped | |
跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 ); 单足蹦跳; 齐足(或双足)跳行; 摘葎草花 | |
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9 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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10 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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11 auction | |
n.拍卖;拍卖会;vt.拍卖 | |
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12 impulsively | |
adv.冲动地 | |
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13 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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