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If Bourcelles could have a slum, this would be it. Why the old lady had left her cosy quarters in Les Glycines and settled down in this unpleasant corner of the village was a puzzle to everybody. With a shrug of the shoulders the problem was generally left unsolved.
London life, however, by the sheer weight of its grinding daily machinery, worked its slow effect upon him. He became less sensitive to impressions. These duller periods were interrupted sometimes by states of brilliant receptiveness, as at Bourcelles; but there was a fence between the two a rather prickly frontier, and the secret of combining them lay just beyond his reach.
'What detail! What a sense of reality! How carefully I must have thought these creatures as a boy! How thoroughly! And what a good idea to go out and see Jack's children at Bourcelles. They've never known these English sprites. I'll introduce 'em! He thought it out in detail, very vividly indeed. His imagination lingered over it and gave it singular reality. Up the road he fairly ran.
'The children simply adore her already, he heard, 'and she won Mother's confidence at the very start. They can't manage her long name. They just call her the Little Countess die kleine Grafin. She's doing a most astonishing work in Austria, it seems, with children... the Montessori method, and all that.... 'By George, now; is it possible? Bourcelles accepted her at once then?
And the bursts of laughter that greeted her polite 'Mr. Rogers, did you have a nice journey, and do you like Bourcelles? in a sudden pause that caught Mother balancing cup and teapot in mid-air puzzled her a good deal. She liked his quiet answer though 'Thank you, Miss Campden, I think both quite charming. He did not laugh. He understood, whatever the others might think.
Jimbo began to hum the song of the village he had learned in school P'tit Bourcelles sur sa colline De partout a gentille mine; On y pratique avec success L'exploitation du francais, and the moment it was over, his sister burst out with the question that had been buzzing inside her head the whole time 'How long are you going to stay? she said, as they climbed higher along the dusty road.
'Send a telegram, you know like that, he shouted, as the carriage slid past him, 'and we'll bring the char. He knew his leader would come back. He took his cap off politely, as a man does to a lady the Bourcelles custom. He did not wave his handkerchief or make undignified signs. He stood there, watching his cousin to the last, and trying to see the working of the engine at the same time.
We can't hover here all night, rang in his ears. And he made a plunge. He suddenly thought of Bourcelles, the little village in the Jura mountains, where he and his cousin had spent a year learning French. The idea flashed into him probably because it contained mountains, caves, and children. His cousin lived there now to educate his children and write his books.
Mother's silence betrayed that she was reading the letter with interest and curiosity equal to those of its recipient. 'Who wrote it? Who's it from? I must answer it at once, Jinny was saying with great importance. 'What time does the post go, I wonder? I mustn't miss it. 'The post-mark, announced Mother, 'is Bourcelles.
I have the feeling now that the Bourcelles we know is a mere shadowy projection cast by a more real Bourcelles behind. It is only the dream village we know in our waking life. The real one er we know only in sleep. There! it was partly out! Mother turned with a little start. 'You mean when we sleep? she asked.
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