tales of trail and town-第14章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



smaller　and　not　very　youthful　portion　of　Paris　had　turned　and

followed　her　with　small　advantage　to　itself　and　happily　no　fear　to

her。　　For　even　in　her　young　womanhood　she　kept　her　child's　loving

knowledge　of　that　great　city；　she　even　had　an　innocent　camaraderie

with　street　sweepers；　kiosk　keepers；　and　lemonade　venders；　and　the

sternness　of　conciergedom　melted　before　her。　　In　this　wholesome；

practical　child's　experience　she　naturally　avoided　or　overlooked

what　would　not　have　interested　a　child；　and　so　kept　her　freshness

and　a　certain　national　shrewd　simplicity　invincible。　　There　is　a

story　told　of　her　girlhood　that；　one　day　playing　in　the　Tuileries

gardens；　she　was　approached　by　a　gentleman　with　a　waxed　mustache

and　a　still　more　waxen　cheek　beneath　his　heavy…lidded　eyes。　　There

was　an　exchange　of　polite　amenities。



〃And　your　name；　ma　petite？〃



〃Helen；〃　responded　the　young　girl　naively。　　〃What's　yours？〃



〃Ah；〃　said　the　kind　gentleman；　gallantly　pulling　at　his　mustache；

〃if　you　are　Helen　I　am　Paris。〃



The　young　girl　raised　her　clear　eyes　to　his　and　said　gravely；　〃I

reckon　your　majesty　is　FRANCE！〃



She　retained　this　childish　fearlessness　as　the　poor　student　of　the

Conservatoire；　went　alone　all　over　Paris　with　her　maiden　skirts

untarnished　by　the　gilded　dust　of　the　boulevards　or　the　filth　of

by…ways；　knew　all　the　best　shops　for　her　friends；　and　the　cheapest

for　her　own　scant　purchases；　discovered　breakfasts　for　a　few　sous

with　pale　sempstresses；　whose　sadness　she　understood；　and　reckless

chorus　girls；　whose　gayety　she　didn't；　she　knew　where　the　earliest

chestnut　buds　were　to　be　found　in　the　Bois；　when　the　slopes　of　the

Buttes　Chaumont　were　green；　and　which　was　the　old　woman　who　sold

the　cheapest　flowers　before　the　Madeleine。　　Alone　and　independent；

she　earned　the　affection　of　Madame　Bibelot；　the　concierge；　and；

what　was　more；　her　confidence。　　Her　outgoings　and　incomings　were

never　questioned。　　The　little　American　could　take　care　of　herself。

Ah；　if　her　son　Jacques　were　only　as　reasonable！　　Miss　Maynard　might

have　made　more　friends　had　she　cared；　she　might　have　joined　hands

with　the　innocent　and　light…hearted　poverty　of　the　coterie　of　her

own　artistic　compatriots；　but　something　in　her　blood　made　her

distrust　Bohemianism；　her　poverty　was　something　to　her　too　sacred

for　jest　or　companionship；　her　own　artistic　aim　was　too　long　and

earnest　for　mere　temporary　enthusiasms。　　She　might　have　found

friends　in　her　own　profession。　　Her　professor　opened　the　sacred

doors　of　his　family　circle　to　the　young　American　girl。　　She

appreciated　the　delicacy；　refinement；　and　cheerful　equal

responsibilities　of　that　household；　so　widely　different　from　the

accepted　Anglo…Saxon　belief；　but　there　were　certain　restrictions

that　rightly　or　wrongly　galled　her　American　habits　of　girlish

freedom；　and　she　resolutely　tripped　past　the　first　etage　four　or

five　flights　higher　to　her　attic；　the　free　sky；　and　independence！

Here　she　sometimes　met　another　kind　of　independence　in　Monsieur

Alphonse；　aged　twenty　two；　and　she　who　ought　to　have　been　Madame

Alphonse；　aged　seventeen；　and　they　often　exchanged　greetings　on　the

landing　with　great　respect　towards　each　other；　and；　oddly　enough；

no　confusion　or　distrait。　　Later　they　even　borrowed　each　other's

matches　without　fear　and　without　reproach；　until　one　day　Monsieur

Alphonse's　parents　took　him　away；　and　the　desolated　soi…disant

Madame　Alphonse；　in　a　cheerful　burst　of　confidence；　gave　Helen　her

private　opinion　of　monsieur；　and　from　her　seventeen　years'

experience　warned　the　American　infant　of　twenty　against　possible

similar　complications。



One　dayit　was　near　the　examination　for　prizes；　and　her　funds　were

running　lowshe　was　obliged　to　seek　one　of　those　humbler

restaurants　she　knew　of　for　her　frugal　breakfast。　　But　she　was　not

hungry；　and　after　a　few　mouthfuls　left　her　meal　unfinished　as　a

young　man　entered　and　half　abstractedly　took　a　seat　at　her　table。

She　had　already　moved　towards　the　comptoir　to　pay　her　few　sous；

when；　chancing　to　look　up　in　a　mirror　which　hung　above　the　counter；

reflecting　the　interior　of　the　cafe；　she　saw　the　stranger；　after

casting　a　hurried　glance　around　him；　remove　from　her　plate　the

broken　roll　and　even　the　crumbs　she　had　left；　and　as　hurriedly

sweep　them　into　his　pocket…handkerchief。　　There　was　nothing　very

strange　in　this；　she　had　seen　something　like　it　before　in　these

humbler　cafes；it　was　a　crib　for　the　birds　in　the　Tuileries

Gardens；　or　the　poor　artist's　substitute　for　rubber　in　correcting

his　crayon　drawing！　　But　there　was　a　singular　flushing　of　his

handsome　face　in　the　act　that　stirred　her　with　a　strange　pity；　made

her　own　cheek　hot　with　sympathy；　and　compelled　her　to　look　at　him

more　attentively。　　The　back　that　was　turned　towards　her　was　broad…

shouldered　and　symmetrical；　and　showed　a　frame　that　seemed　to

require　stronger　nourishment　than　the　simple　coffee　and　roll　he　had

ordered　and　was　devouring　slowly。　　His　clothes；　well　made　though

worn；　fitted　him　in　a　smart；　soldier…like　way；　and　accentuated　his

decided　military　bearing。　　The　singular　use　of　his　left　hand　in

lifting　his　cup　made　her　uneasy；　until　a　slight　movement　revealed

the　fact　that　his　right　sleeve　was　empty　and　pinned　to　his　coat。

He　was　one…armed。　　She　turned　her　compassionate　eyes　aside；　yet

lingered　to　make　a　few　purchases　at　the　counter；　as　he　paid　his

bill　and　walked　away。　　But　she　was　surprised　to　see　that　he

tendered　the　waiter　the　unexampled　gratuity　of　a　sou。　　Perhaps　he

was　some　eccentric　Englishman；　he　certainly　did　not　look　like　a

Frenchman。



She　had　quite　forgotten　the　incident；　and　in　the　afternoon　had

strolled　with　a　few　fellow　pupils　into　the　galleries　of　the　Louvre。

It　was　〃copying…day；〃　and　as　her　friends　loitered　around　the　easels

of　the　different　students　with　the　easy　consciousness　of　being

themselves　〃artists；〃　she　strolled　on　somewhat　abstractedly　before

them。　　Her　own　art　was　too　serious　to　permit　her　much　sympathy　with

another；　and　in　the　chatter　of　her　companions　with　the　young

painters　a　certain　levity　disturbed　her。　　Suddenly　she　stopped。

She　had　reached　a　less　frequented　room；　there　was　a　single　easel　at

one　side；　but　the　stool　before　it　was　empty；　and　its　late　occupant

was　standing　in　a　recess　by　the　window；　with　his　back　towards　her。

He　had　drawn　a　silk　handkerchief　from　his　pocket。　　She　recognized

his　square　shoulders；　she　recognized　the　handkerchief；　and　as　he

unrolled　it　she　recognized　the　fragments　of　her　morning's　breakfast

as　he　began　to　eat　them。　　It　was　the　one…armed　man。



She　remained　so　motionless　and　breathless　that　he　finished　his　scant

meal　without　noticing　her；　and　even　resumed　his　place　before　the

easel　without　being　aware　of　her　presence。　　The　noise　of　approaching

feet　gave　a　fresh　impulse　to　her　own；　and　she　moved　towards　him。

But　he　was　evidently　accustomed　to　these　interruptions；　and　worked

on　steadily　without　turning　his　head。　　As　the　other　footsteps　passed

her　she　was　emboldened　to　take　a　position　behind　him　and　glance　at

his　work。　　It　was　an　architectural　study　of　one　of　Canaletto's

palaces。　　Even　her　inexperienced　eyes　were　struck　with　its　vigor　and

fidelity。　　But　she　was　also　conscious　of　a　sense　of　disappointment。

Why　was　he　notlike　the　otherscopying　one　of　the　masterpieces？

Becoming　at　last　aware　of　a　motionless　woman　behind　him；　he　rose；

and　with　a　slight　gesture　of　courtesy　and　a　half…hesitating　〃Vous

verrez　mieux　la；　mademoiselle；〃　moved　to　one　side。



〃Thank　you；〃　said　Miss　Maynard　in　English；　〃but　I　did　not　want　to

disturb　you。〃



He　glanced　quickly　at　her　face　for　the　first　time。　　〃Ah；　you　are

English！〃　he　said。



〃No。　　I　am　American。〃



His　face　lightened。　　〃So　am　I。〃



〃I　thought　so；〃　she　said。



〃From　my　bad　French？〃



〃No。　　Because　you　did　not　look　up　to　see　if　the　woman　you　were

polite　to　was　old　or　young。〃



He　smiled。　　〃And　you；　mademoiselle；you　did　not　murmur　a　compliment

to　the　copy　over　the　artist's　back。〃



She　smiled；　too；　yet　with　a　little　pang　over　the　bread。　　But　she

was　relieved　to　see　that　he　evidently　had　not　recognized　her。　　〃You

are　modest；〃　she　said；　〃you　do　not　attempt　masterpieces。〃



〃Oh；　no！　　The　giants　like　Titian　and　Corregio　must　be　served　with

both　hands。　　I　have　only　one；〃　he　said　half　lightly；　half　sadly。



〃But　you　have　been　a　soldier；〃　she　said　with　quick　intuition。



〃Not　much。　　Only　during　our　war；until　I　was　compelled　to　handle

nothing　larger　than　a　palette　knife。　　Then　I　came　home　to　New　York；

and；　as　I　was　no　use　there；　I　came　here　to　study。〃



〃I　am　from　South　Carolina；〃　she　said　quietly；　with　a　rising　color。



He　put　his　palette　down；　and　glanced　at　her　black　dress。　　〃Yes；〃

she　went　on　doggedly；　〃my　father　lost　all　his　property；　and　was

killed　in　battle　with　the　Northerners。　　I　am　an　orphan；a　pupil　of

the　Conservatoire。〃　　It　was　never　her　custom　to　allude　to　her

family　or　her　lost　fortunes；　she　knew　not　why　she　did　it　now；　but

something　impelled　her　to　rid　her　mind　of　it　to　him　at　once。　　Yet

she　was　pained　at　his　grave　and　pitying　face。



〃I　am　very　sorry；〃　he　said　simply。　　Then；　after　a　pause；　he　added；

with　a　gentle　smile；　〃At　all　events　you　and　I　will　not　quarrel　here

under　the　wings　of　the　French　eagles　that　shelter　us　both。〃



〃I　only　wanted　to　explain　why　I　was　alone　in　Paris；〃　she　said；　a

little　less　aggressively。



He　replied　by　unhooking　his　palette；　which　was　ingeniously　fastened

by　a　strap　over　his　shoulder　under　the　missing　arm；　and　opened　a

portfolio　of　sketches　at　his　side。　　〃Perhaps　they　may　interest　you

more　than　the　copy；　which　I　have　attempted　only　to　get　at　this

man's　method。　　They　are　sketches　I　have　done　here。〃



There　was　a　buttress　of　Notre　Dame；　a　black　arch　of　the　Pont　Neuf；

part　of　an　old　courtyard　in　the　Faubourg　St。　Germain；all　very

fresh　and　striking。　　Yet；　with　the　recollection　of　his　poverty　in

her　mind；　she　could　not　help　saying；　〃But　if　you　copied　one　of

those　masterpieces；　you　know　you　could　sell　it。　　There　is　always　a

demand　for　that　work。〃



〃Yes；〃　he　replied；　〃but　these　help　me　in　my　line；　which　is

architectural　study。　　It　is；　perhaps；　not　very　ambitious；〃　he　added

thoughtfully；　〃but；〃　brightening　up　again；　〃I　sell　these　sketches；

too。　　They　are　quite　marketable；　I　assure　you。〃



Helen's　heart　sank　again。　　She　remembered　now　to　have　seen　such

sketchesshe　doubted　not　they　were　hisin　the　cheap　shops　in　the

Rue　Poissoniere；　ticketed　at　a　few　francs　each。　　She　was　silent　as

he　patiently　turned　them　over。　　Suddenly　she　uttered　a　little　cry。



He　had　just　uncovered　a　little　sketch　of　what　seemed　at　first　sight

only　a　confused　cluster　of　roof　tops；　dormer　windows；　and　chimneys；

level　with　the　sky…line。　　But　it　was　bathed　in　the　white　sunshine

of　Paris；　against　the　blue　sky　she　knew　so　well。　　There；　too；　were

the　gritty　crystals　and　rust　of　the　ti