"Or a night at Voisin's, with dice and the green board?"
"Paris!"
"Or a romp with the girls along the quays?"
"Horns of Panurge! I like this mood."
"It's a man's mood. I am thinking of the chateau of oak and maple I
shall some day build along some river height. What a fireplace I shall
have, and what cellars! Somehow, Paris no longer calls to me."
"To me," said the poet, "it is ever calling, calling. Shall I see my
beloved Paris again? Who can say?"
"Mazarin will not live forever."
"But here it is so lonesome; a desert. And you will make a fine
seigneur, you with your fastidious tastes, love of fine clothes and
music. Look at yourself now! A silk shirt in tatters, tawdry
buckskin, a new hero's feather, and a dingy pair of moccasins. And you
are going a-courting. What, fortune?"
"'Tis all the same."
"So you love her?" quietly.
"Yes, lad, I love her; and I am determined to learn this day the worth
of loving."
"Take care," warned the poet.
"Victor, some day you will be going back to Paris. Tell them at court
how, of a summer's morn, Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes went forth
to conquest.
Pages:
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425