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"Dthat ees more your rôle, for if you pairmeet me to listen to your so beautiful Eenglish, I must learn much. But you will let me spik to you a leedle in Frainch, mademoiselle? Dthere air zome dthings I cannot say in Eenglish." We stop at the vessel's side, and in a glance across to Mrs. Steele I see her looking with wide-eyed amusement and a dash of concern at my companion.
Steele every moment and insist I understand only English. Baron de Bach observes a day or two after this: "Señorita's knowledge of French and Jherman ees better zome days dthan odthers. But it ees gude for me that I vill learn spik zo beautiful Eenglish." "Forgif me, Señorita," he says, beginning afresh after a pause, "but vhat blue eyes you haf!" "You are colour blind, Baron," observes Mrs.
True, his hair was golden, but it was cut short, and bore no resemblance to the coat of a bear; his mustache and brows were brown; his gray eyes were as laughing as her own. "I suppose you do not speak any English, señorita," he said helplessly. "No? I spik Eenglish like the Spanish. The Spanish people no have difficult at all to learn the other langues.
I dreams of her images in my exiles! When I learns at my acadamies ze young ladees, ze beautifool Eenglish mees, I tinks of ma belle Marie, her figure, and her face angelique, wheech I sail nevaire forgets no, nevaire! And I says to myselfs, `Ah! she ees more beautifools dan dese! Mais, mon ami, I was deceives by her all dat time.
"If you will pardon me," he said, "I will go and see how she is." He left the room, and the wife of the Spanish Ambassador turned to her companion with a sigh. "So devot he is, no?" she murmured. "You Eenglish, you have the fire undere the ice. He lover his wife very moocho when he leaver the dinner. And she lover him too, no?" "I don't know," said the Englishman to whom she spoke.
But to me, a dreamer of dreams, To whom what is and what seems Are often one and the same, The Bells of San Blas to me Have a strange wild melody, And are something more than a name." "Ah, vas I not right, Madame Steele? I vill learn zo beautiful Eenglish on dthis voyage." On the fifth day out from San Francisco we make the harbour of Mazatlan, on the Mexican coast.
"You vill zee dthree volcano near Guatemala; dthey air dthe 'spirits' of dthe place call in Eenglish 'Air, 'Fire' and 'Vater. Zee on dthis leedle coin dthey haf all dthree mountains on dthe back." "Why, what's the matter with your hands?" I say, taking the coin.
I vill hope to teach Señorita zome day dthat Peruvians air no liars." "Ah, Baron," I say deprecatingly, "I never meant that, you didn't understand me I " "No," he interrupts "I know dthat often I understand you not and zometimes it ees my so bad Eenglish dthat ees to blame.
"He tell me I act like I vas Capitan, dthen he call me 'damn. I tell him he vas a coachman!" The Baron looks surprised and a bit resentful at our laughter. "What made you call him a coachman?" Mrs. Steele is the first, as usual, to pull a straight face. "Madame forget I know not all Eenglish vords. I could dthink of nodthing more vorse I vas zo crazy vidth madness." "See the banana plantations!
"It never struck me that Penrhyn was a particularly lovable fellow. He's so deuced haughty; the Welsh are worse for that than we English. He's as unapproachable as a stone. I don't fancy the Lady Sionèd worships the ground he treads upon. But then, he's the biggest diplomate in Great Britain; one can't have everything." "I no liker all the Eenglish, though," pursued the pretty Spaniard.
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