For mark what he did.
He went to his room, which was already growing dark, shut his window,
lighted his big Dutch lamp, and sat down to write. "Something _must_ be
done," said he aloud, taking up his pen; "I will be calm and cool; I
will be distant and brief; but--I shall have to be kind or I may offend.
Ah! I shall have to write in French; I forgot that; I write it so
poorly, dunce that I am, when all my brothers and sisters speak it so
well." He got out his French dictionary. Two hours slipped by. He made a
new pen, washed and refilled his inkstand, mended his "abominable!"
chair, and after two hours more made another attempt, and another
failure. "My head aches," said he, and lay down on his couch, the better
to frame his phrases.
He was awakened by the Sabbath sunlight. The bells of the Cathedral and
the Ursulines' chapel were ringing for high mass, and a mocking-bird,
perching on a chimney-top above Madame John's rooms, was carolling,
whistling, mewing, chirping, screaming, and trilling with the ecstasy of
a whole May in his throat.
Pages:
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278