III
The Luxembourg was a blaze of flowers. He walked slowly through the longavenues of trees, past mossy marbles and old-time columns, and threadingthe grove by the bronze lion, came upon the tree-crowned terrace above thefountain. Below lay the basin shining in the sunlight. Flowering almondsencircled the terrace, and, in a greater spiral, groves of chestnuts woundin and out and down among the moist thickets by the western palace wing.At one end of the avenue of trees the Observatory rose, its white domespiled up like an eastern mosque; at the other end stood the heavy palace,with every window-pane ablaze in the fierce sun of June.
Around the fountain, children and white-capped nurses armed with bamboopoles were pushing toy boats, whose sails hung limp in the sunshine. Adark policeman, wearing red epaulettes and a dress sword, watched them fora while and then went away to remonstrate with a young man who hadunchained his dog. The dog was pleasantly occupied in rubbing grass anddirt into his back while his legs waved into the air.
The policeman pointed at the dog. He was speechless with indignation.
"Well, Captain," smiled the young fellow.
"Well, Monsieur Student," growled the policeman.
"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 astudent he was wicked, grabbed at the dog, who promptly dodged. Around andaround the flower-beds they raced, and when the officer came too near forcomfort, the bull-dog cut across a flower-bed, which perhaps was notplaying fair.
The young man was amused, and the dog also seemed to enjoy the exercise.
The policeman noticed this and decided to strike at the fountain-head ofthe evil. He stormed up to the student and said, "As the owner of thispublic nuisance I arrest you!"
"But," objected the other, "I disclaim the dog."
That was a poser. It was useless to attempt to catch the dog until threegardeners lent a hand, but then the dog simply ran away and disappeared inthe rue de Medici.
The policeman shambled off to find consolation among the white-cappednurses, and the student, looking at his watch, stood up yawning. Thencatching sight of Hastings, he smiled and bowed. Hastings walked over tothe marble, laughing.
"Why, Clifford," he said, "I didn't recognize you."
"It's my moustache," sighed the other. "I sacrificed it to humour a whimof--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 withpolicemen, 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 ofrolling on lawns." Then they chatted for a moment of Hastings' prospects,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 metyou," explained Clifford, "and Elliott and I will be glad to do anythingwe can." Then looking at his watch again, he muttered, "I have just tenminutes to catch the Versailles train; au revoir," and started to go, butcatching sight of a girl advancing by the fountain, took off his hat witha confused smile.
"Why are you not at Versailles?" she said, with an almost imperceptibleacknowledgment of Hastings' presence.
"I--I'm going," murmured Clifford.
For a moment they faced each other, and then Clifford, very red,stammered, "With your permission I have the honour of presenting to you myfriend, Monsieur Hastings."
Hastings bowed low. She smiled very sweetly, but there was something ofmalice in the quiet inclination of her small Parisienne head.
"I could have wished," she said, "that Monsieur Clifford might spare memore 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, wincing, when she added, "Andgive my dearest love to Cecile!" As he disappeared in the rue d'Assas, thegirl turned as if to go, but then suddenly remembering Hastings, looked athim and shook her head.
"Monsieur Clifford is so perfectly harebrained," she smiled, "it isembarrassing sometimes. You have heard, of course, all about his successat the Salon?"
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 heed to his explanation, but continued: "Nobodyimagined he had the energy to do anything good, but on varnishing day theSalon was astonished by the entrance of Monsieur Clifford, who strolledabout as bland as you please with an orchid in his buttonhole, and abeautiful 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 thathe only shook hands with Monsieur Clifford in a dazed manner, and actuallyforgot 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, lookedat her with respect. "May I ask," he said diffidently, "whether you are apupil of Bouguereau?"
"I?" she said in some surprise. Then she looked at him curiously. Was hepermitting himself the liberty of joking on such short acquaintance?
His pleasant serious face questioned hers.
"Tiens," she thought, "what a droll man!"
"You surely study art?" he said.
She leaned back on the crooked stick of her parasol, and looked at him."Why do you think so?"
"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 tiltingher 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 oneof the despised. Then mustering up his courage, he told her how new andgreen he was, and all with a frankness which made her blue eyes open verywide 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 andDagnan 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 suddenher eyes fell and she began tracing figures with her parasol in the gravelat her feet. Hastings had taken a place on the seat, and now, with hiselbows on his knees, sat watching the spray drifting above the fountainjet. A small boy, dressed as a sailor, stood poking his yacht and crying,"I won't go home! I won't go home!" His nurse raised her hands to Heaven.
"Just like a little American boy," thought Hastings, and a pang ofhomesickness shot through him.
Presently the nurse captured the boat, and the small boy stood at bay.
"Monsieur Rene, when yo
u decide to come here you may have your boat."
The boy backed away scowling.
"Give me my boat, I say," he cried, "and don't call me Rene, for myname's Randall and you know it!"
"Hello!" said Hastings,--"Randall?--that's English."
"I am American," announced the boy in perfectly good English, turning tolook at Hastings, "and she's such a fool she calls me Rene because mammacalls me Ranny--"
Here he dodged the exasperated nurse and took up his station behindHastings, who laughed, and catching him around the waist lifted him intohis lap.
"One of my countrymen," he said to the girl beside him. He smiled while hespoke, but there was a queer feeling in his throat.
"Don't you see the stars and stripes on my yacht?" demanded Randall. Sureenough, the American colours hung limply under the nurse's arm.
"Oh," cried the girl, "he is charming," and impulsively stooped to kisshim, but the infant Randall wriggled out of Hastings' arms, and his nursepounced upon him with an angry glance at the girl.
She reddened and then bit her lips as the nurse, with eyes still fixed onher, dragged the child away and ostentatiously wiped his lips with herhandkerchief.
Then she stole a look at Hastings and bit her lip again.
"What an ill-tempered woman!" he said. "In America, most nurses areflattered when people kiss their children."
For an instant she tipped the parasol to hide her face, then closed itwith a snap and looked at him defiantly.
"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 thedust with her parasol. After a while he said--"I am glad to see that youngpeople have so much liberty here. I understood that the French were not atall 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 amglad 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 ofpretty girls walking alone on the terrace there,--and then _you_ are alonetoo. Tell me, for I do not know French customs,--do you have the libertyof going to the theatre without a chaperone?"
For a long time she studied his face, and then with a trembling smilesaid, "Why do you ask me?"
"Because you must know, of course," he said gaily.
"Yes," she replied indifferently, "I know."
He waited for an answer, but getting none, decided that perhaps she hadmisunderstood him.
"I hope you don't think I mean to presume on our short acquaintance," hebegan,--"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 inFrance?"
"It is the custom in the Latin Quarter," she said with a queer light inher eyes. Then suddenly she began talking almost feverishly.
"You must know, Monsieur Hastings, that we are all _un peu sans gene_ herein the Latin Quarter. We are very Bohemian, and etiquette and ceremony areout of place. It was for that Monsieur Clifford presented you to me withsmall ceremony, and left us together with less,--only for that, and I amhis friend, and I have many friends in the Latin Quarter, and we all knoweach 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 veryintimately?"
"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 ofyou 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 tospeak to Monsieur Clifford about me. Promise me that you will speak to noone about me."
"I promise," he said, greatly puzzled.
She laughed nervously. "I wish to remain a mystery. It is a caprice."
"But," he began, "I had wished, I had hoped that you might give MonsieurClifford 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.
"Would it displease you if I beg you to receive me? It is the custom?"
"I cannot," she answered. Then glancing up at him, "I am sorry; I shouldlike to; but believe me. I cannot."
He bowed seriously and looked vaguely uneasy.
"It isn't because I don't wish to. I--I like you; you are very kind tome."
"Kind?" he cried, surprised and puzzled.
"I like you," she said slowly, "and we will see each other sometimes ifyou will."
"At friends' houses."
"No, not at friends' houses."
"Where?"
"Here," she said with defiant eyes.
"Why," he cried, "in Paris you are much more liberal in your views than weare."
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, witha pretty gesture toward the statues of the dead queens, ranged in statelyranks above the terrace.
He looked at her, delighted, and she brightened at the success of herinnocent little pleasantry.
"Indeed," she smiled, "I shall be well chaperoned, because you see we areunder the protection of the gods themselves; look, there are Apollo, andJuno, and Venus, on their pedestals," counting them on her small glovedfingers, "and Ceres, Hercules, and--but I can't make out--"
Hastings turned to look up at the winged god under whose shadow they wereseated.
"Why, it's Love," he said.