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"Nay, nay," rumbled another voice, "that is not the sound of a trumpet, François. That will be sudden and loud and sharp, like the great blasts of the north when they come plunging over the sea from out the awful gorges of Iceland. Dost thou remember them, François? Thank the good God they spared us to die in our beds with our grandchildren about us and only the little wind sighing in the Bois d'Amour. Ah, the poor comrades that died in their manhood, that went to the grande pêche once too often! Dost thou remember when the great wave curled round Ignace like his poor wife's arms, and we saw him no more? We clasped each other's hands, for we believed that we should follow, but we lived and went again and again to the grande pêche, and died in our beds. Grâce
The sentiments expressed in the first stanza rescued from oblivion will be sufficient to indicate the character of the others: "Je ne suis plus oiseau des champs, Mais de ces oiseaux des Tournelles Qui parlent d'amour en tout temps, Et qui plaignent les tourterelles De ne se baiser qu'au printemps."
As it was, things did not go much amiss. I had the honour of being introduced to the old Marquis de B-: in days of yore he had signalized himself by some small feats of chivalry in the Cour d'Amour, and had dress'd himself out to the idea of tilts and tournaments ever since. The Marquis de B- wish'd to have it thought the affair was somewhere else than in his brain.
They are all plain Wiltshire rustics who talk a broad vernacular, but at the end a shepherd and shepherdess enter and sing a duet in a more courtly strain. The author of this slight production is not known, but it is regarded by the latest authority on masques as an imitation, in the looseness of its construction, of Davenant's Prince d'Amour.
Where the odorous avenues of lilacs stretched along, affording bouquets for maman and the children and toothpicks for ferocious young warriors from the garrisons, are odious lengths of wall. Everything is changed, and from the gardens the grisettes of Alfred de Musset are with sighing sent. Their haunts are laboratories now, and the Ile d'Amour is a mayor's office.
A soft chord, other chords, deep and sweet, and then the dear voice: Oui c'est un reve, Un reve doux d'amour, La nuit lui prete son mystere The chain is forged again. The mists of passion rise thickly, heavily, and blot out all else forever. Helene's song ceased. He heard them praise her, and heard "Good nights" and "Au revoirs" exchanged. He rose and stood near the door.
'Life is a dream, observed Monkey, while Jinny seemed uncertain whether she should laugh or take it seriously. The Widow Jequier overheard her. There was little she did not overhear. 'Coquine! she said, then quoted with a sentimental sigh: La vie est breve, Un peu d'amour. Un peu de rive Et puis bonjour! She hung her head sideways a moment for effect. There was a pause all down the long table.
The Chateau d'Amour, indeed, as the work of a later age, refined somewhat upon the rough feudal architecture; and the daintier taste had centred itself in particular upon one apartment, a veritable woman's apartment, with an effect in some degree anticipating the achievement of Gaston's own century, in which the apparatus of daily life became so eloquent of the moods of those to whom it ministered.
Jacqueline had no extraordinary voice, but music was native to her, and she sang as birds sing, with a true light sweetness exquisite to the ear: 'Souvenir charmant du premier jour d'amour! The declaration came to the listeners with a pure sincerity, it abounded in simplicity, in youthfulness, in conviction. A quiver ran through Maxine, her numbed senses vibrated.
"The mountaineers say that their fragrance casts a spell which carries the thought back to the giver." "Is that the language of science?" she queried absently, with a thought far away. "But no, senorita, assuredly not," said the young Caracufian. "It is the language permit that I say it better in French c'est le langage d'amour."
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