tales of trail and town-第21章

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〃I　am　glad　you　think　so　well　of　it；　for　I　do　not　mean　to　sell　it；〃

he　said　simply；　yet　with　a　significance　that　kept　her　silent。



She　did　not　see　him　again　for　several　days。　　The　preparation　for

her　examination　left　her　no　time；　and　her　earnest　concentration　in

her　work　fully　preoccupied　her　thoughts。　　She　was　surprised；　but

not　disturbed；　on　the　day　of　the　awards　to　see　him　among　the

audience　of　anxious　parents　and　relations。　　Miss　Helen　Maynard　did

not　get　the　first　prize；　nor　yet　the　second；　an　accessit　was　her

only　award。　　She　did　not　know　until　afterwards　that　this　had　long

been　a　foregone　conclusion　of　her　teachers　on　account　of　some

intrinsic　defect　in　her　voice。　　She　did　not　know　until　long

afterwards　that　the　handsome　painter's　nervousness　on　that　occasion

had　attracted　even　the　sympathy　of　some　of　those　who　were　near　him。

For　she　herself　had　been　calm　and　collected。　　No　one　else　knew　how

crushing　was　the　blow　which　shattered　her　hopes　and　made　her　three

years　of　labor　and　privation　a　useless　struggle。　　Yet　though　no

longer　a　pupil　she　could　still　teach；　her　master　had　found　her　a

small　patronage　that　saved　her　from　destitution。　　That　night　she

circled　up　quite　cheerfully　in　her　usual　swallow　flight　to　her　nest

under　the　eaves；　and　even　twittered　on　the　landing　a　little　over

the　condolences　of　the　conciergewho　knew；　mon　Dieu！　what　a　beast

the　director　of　the　Conservatoire　was　and　how　he　could　be　bribed；

but　when　at　last　her　brown　head　sank　on　her　pillow　she　criedjust

a　little。



But　what　was　all　this　to　that　next　morningthe　glorious　spring

morning　which　bathed　all　the　roofs　of　Paris　with　warmth　and　hope；

rekindling　enthusiasm　and　ambition　in　the　breast　of　youth；　and

gilding　even　much　of　the　sordid　dirt　below。　　It　seemed　quite

natural　that　she　should　meet　Major　Ostrander　not　many　yards　away　as

she　sallied　out。　　In　that　bright　spring　sunshine　and　the　hopeful

spring　of　their　youth　they　even　laughed　at　the　previous　day's

disappointment。　　Ah！　what　a　claque　it　was；　after　all！　　For　himself；

he；　Ostrander；　would　much　rather　see　that　satin…faced　Parisian　girl

who　had　got　the　prize　smirking　at　the　critics　from　the　boards　of

the　Grand　Opera　than　his　countrywoman！　　The　Conservatoire　settled

things　for　Paris；　but　Paris　wasn't　the　world！　　America　would　come

to　the　fore　yet　in　art　of　all　kindsthere　was　a　free　academy　there

nowthere　should　be　a　Conservatoire　of　its　own。　　Of　course；　Paris

schooling　and　Paris　experience　weren't　to　be　despised　in　art；　but；

thank　heaven！　she　had　THAT；　and　no　directors　could　take　it　from

her！　　This　and　much　more；　until；　comparing　notes；　they　suddenly

found　that　they　were　both　free　for　that　day。　　Why　should　they　not

take　advantage　of　that　rare　weather　and　rarer　opportunity　to　make　a

little　suburban　excursion？　　But　where？　　There　was　the　Bois；　but

that　was　still　Paris。　　Fontainebleau？　　Too　far；　there　were　always

artists　sketching　in　the　forest；　and　he　would　like　for　that　day　to

〃sink　the　shop。〃　　Versailles？　　Ah；　yes！　　Versailles！



Thither　they　went。　　It　was　not　new　to　either　of　them。　　Ostrander

knew　it　as　an　artist　and　as　an　American　reader　of　that　French

historic　romancea　reader　who　hurried　over　the　sham　intrigues　of

the　Oeil　de　Boeuf；　the　sham　pastorals　of　the　Petit　Trianon；　and　the

sham　heroics　of　a　shifty　court；　to　get　to　Lafayette。　　Helen　knew　it

as　a　child　who　had　dodged　these　lessons　from　her　patriotic　father；

but　had　enjoyed　the　woods；　the　parks；　the　terraces；　and　particularly

the　restaurant　at　the　park　gates。　　That　day　they　took　it　like　a　boy

and　girl；with　the　amused；　omniscient　tolerance　of　youth　for　a　past

so　inferior　to　the　present。　　Ostrander　thought　this　gray…eyed；

independent　American…French　girl　far　superior　to　the　obsequious

filles　d'honneur；　whose　brocades　had　rustled　through　those

quinquonces；　and　Helen　vaguely　realized　the　truth　of　her　fellow

pupil's　mischievous　criticism　of　her　companion　that　day　at　the

Louvre。　　Surely　there　was　no　classical　statue　here　comparable　to　the

one…armed　soldier…painter！



All　this　was　as　yet　free　from　either　sentiment　or　passion；　and　was

only　the　frank　pride　of　friendship。　　But；　oddly　enough；　their　mere

presence　and　companionship　seemed　to　excite　in　others　that

tenderness　they　had　not　yet　felt　themselves。　　Family　groups　watched

the　handsome　pair　in　their　innocent　confidences；　and；　with　French

exuberant　recognition　of　sentiment；　thought　them　the　incarnation　of

Love。　　Something　in　their　manifest　equality　of　condition　kept　even

the　vainest　and　most　susceptible　of　spectators　from　attempted

rivalry　or　cynical　interruption。　　And　when　at　last　they　dropped

side　by　side　on　a　sun…warmed　stone　bench　on　the　terrace；　and　Helen；

inclining　her　brown　head　towards　her　companion；　informed　him　of　the

difficulty　she　had　experienced　in　getting　gumbo　soup；　rice　and

chicken；　corn　cakes；　or　any　of　her　favorite　home　dishes　in　Paris；

an　exhausted　but　gallant　boulevardier　rose　from　a　contiguous　bench；

and；　politely　lifting　his　hat　to　the　handsome　couple；　turned　slowly

away　from　what　he　believed　were　tender　confidences　he　would　not

permit　himself　to　hear。



But　the　shadow　of　the　trees　began　to　lengthen；　casting　broad　bars

across　the　alle；　and　the　sun　sank　lower　to　the　level　of　their　eyes。

They　were　quite　surprised；　on　looking　around　a　few　moments　later；

to　discover　that　the　gardens　were　quite　deserted；　and　Ostrander；　on

consulting　his　watch；　found　that　they　had　just　lost　a　train　which

the　other　pleasure…seekers　had　evidently　availed　themselves　of。　　No

matter；　there　was　another　train　an　hour　later；　they　could　still

linger　for　a　few　moments　in　the　brief　sunset　and　then　dine　at　the

local　restaurant　before　they　left。　　They　both　laughed　at　their

forgetfulness；　and　then；　without　knowing　why；　suddenly　lapsed　into

silence。　　A　faint　wind　blew　in　their　faces　and　trilled　the　thin

leaves　above　their　heads。　　Nothing　else　moved。　　The　long　windows　of

the　palace　in　that　sunset　light　seemed　to　glisten　again　with　the

incendiary　fires　of　the　Revolution；　and　then　went　out　blankly　and

abruptly。　　The　two　companions　felt　that　they　possessed　the　terrace

and　all　its　memories　as　completely　as　the　shadows　who　had　lived　and

died　there。



〃I　am　so　glad　we　have　had　this　day　together；〃　said　the　painter；

with　a　very　conscious　breaking　of　the　silence；　〃for　I　am　leaving

Paris　to…morrow。〃



Helen　raised　her　eyes　quickly　to　his。



〃For　a　few　days　only；〃　he　continued。　　〃My　Russian　customers

perhaps　I　ought　to　say　my　patronshave　given　me　a　commission　to

make　a　study　of　an　old　chateau　which　the　princess　lately　bought。〃



A　swift　recollection　of　her　fellow　pupil's　raillery　regarding　the

princess's　possible　attitude　towards　the　painter　came　over　her　and

gave　a　strange　artificiality　to　her　response。



〃I　suppose　you　will　enjoy　it　very　much；〃　she　said　dryly。



〃No；〃　he　returned　with　the　frankness　that　she　had　lacked。　　〃I'd

much　rather　stay　in　Paris；　but；〃　he　added　with　a　faint　smile；　〃it's

a　question　of　money；　and　that　is　not　to　be　despised。　　Yet　II

somehow　feel　that　I　am　deserting　you；leaving　you　here　all　alone

in　Paris。〃



〃I've　been　all　alone　for　four　years；〃　she　said；　with　a　bitterness

she　had　never　felt　before；　〃and　I　suppose　I'm　accustomed　to　it。〃



Nevertheless　she　leaned　a　little　forward；　with　her　fawn…colored

lashes　dropped　over　her　eyes；　which　were　bent　upon　the　ground　and

the　point　of　the　parasol　she　was　holding　with　her　little　gloved

hands　between　her　knees。　　He　wondered　why　she　did　not　look　up；　he

did　not　know　that　it　was　partly　because　there　were　tears　in　her

eyes　and　partly　for　another　reason。　　As　she　had　leaned　forward　his

arm　had　quite　unconsciously　moved　along　the　back　of　the　bench　where

her　shoulders　had　rested；　and　she　could　not　have　resumed　her

position　except　in　his　half　embrace。



He　had　not　thought　of　it。　　He　was　lost　in　a　greater　abstraction。

That　infinite　tenderness；far　above　a　woman's；the　tenderness　of

st