Lucile [9]
heard, And I never shall hear (I well know it), one word Of that delicate idiom of Paris without Feeling morally sure, beyond question or doubt, By the wild way in which my heart inwardly flutter'd That my heart's native tongue to my heart had been utter'd And whene'er I hear French spoken as I approve I feel myself quietly falling in love.
XIII.
Lord Alfred, on hearing the stranger, appeased By a something, an accent, a cadence, which pleased His ear with that pledge of good breeding which tells At once of the world in whose fellowship dwells The speaker that owns it, was glad to remark In the horseman a man one might meet after dark Without fear. And thus, not disagreeably impress'd, As it seem'd, with each other, the two men abreast Rode on slowly a moment.
XIV.
STRANGER.
I see, Sir, you are A smoker. Allow me!
ALFRED.
Pray take a cigar.
STRANGER.
Many thanks! . . . Such cigars are a luxury here. Do you go to Luchon?
ALFRED.
Yes; and you?
STRANGER.
Yes. I fear, Since our road is the same, that our journey must be Somewhat closer than is our acquaintance. You see How narrow the path is. I'm tempted to ask Your permission to finish (no difficult task!) The cigar you have given me (really a prize!) In your company.
ALFRED.
Charm'd, Sir, to find your road lies In the way of my own inclinations! Indeed The dream of your nation I find in this weed. In the distant Savannahs a talisman grows That makes all men brothers that use it . . . who knows? That blaze which erewhile from the Boulevart out-broke, It has ended where wisdom begins, Sir,--in smoke. Messieurs Lopez (whatever your publicists write) Have done more in their way human kind to unite, Perchance, than ten Prudhons.
STRANGER.
Yes. Ah, what a scene!
ALFRED.
Humph! Nature is here too pretentious. Her mien Is too haughty. One likes to be coax'd, not compell'd, To the notice such beauty resents if withheld. She seems to be saying too plainly, "Admire me!" And I answer, "Yes, madam, I do: but you tire me."
STRANGER.
That sunset, just now though . . .
ALFRED.
A very old trick! One would think that the sun by this time must be sick Of blushing at what, by this time, he must know Too well to be shocked by--this world.
STRANGER.
Ah, 'tis so With us all. 'Tis the sinner that best knew the world At Twenty, whose lip is, at sixty, most curl'd With disdain of its follies. You stay at Luchon?
ALFRED.
A day or two only.
STRANGER.
The season is done.
ALFRED.
Already?
STRANGER.
'Twas shorter this year than the last. Folly soon wears her shoes out. She dances so fast We are all of us tired.
ALFRED.
You know the place well?
STRANGER.
I have been there two seasons.
ALFRED.
Pray who is the Belle Of the Baths at this moment?
STRANGER.
The same who has been The belle of all places in which she is seen; The belle of all Paris last winter; last spring The belle of all Baden.
ALFRED.
An uncommon thing!
STRANGER.
Sir, an uncommon beauty! . . . I rather should say An uncommon character. Truly, each day One meets women whose beauty is equal to hers, But none with the charm of Lucile de Nevers.
ALFRED.
Madame de Nevers!
STRANGER.
Do you know her?
ALFRED.
I know Or, rather, I knew her--a long time ago. I almost forget . . .
STRANGER.
What a wit! what a grace In her language! her movements! what play in her face! And yet what a sadness she seems to conceal!
ALFRED.
You speak like a lover.
STRANGER.
I speak as I feel, But not like a lover. What
XIII.
Lord Alfred, on hearing the stranger, appeased By a something, an accent, a cadence, which pleased His ear with that pledge of good breeding which tells At once of the world in whose fellowship dwells The speaker that owns it, was glad to remark In the horseman a man one might meet after dark Without fear. And thus, not disagreeably impress'd, As it seem'd, with each other, the two men abreast Rode on slowly a moment.
XIV.
STRANGER.
I see, Sir, you are A smoker. Allow me!
ALFRED.
Pray take a cigar.
STRANGER.
Many thanks! . . . Such cigars are a luxury here. Do you go to Luchon?
ALFRED.
Yes; and you?
STRANGER.
Yes. I fear, Since our road is the same, that our journey must be Somewhat closer than is our acquaintance. You see How narrow the path is. I'm tempted to ask Your permission to finish (no difficult task!) The cigar you have given me (really a prize!) In your company.
ALFRED.
Charm'd, Sir, to find your road lies In the way of my own inclinations! Indeed The dream of your nation I find in this weed. In the distant Savannahs a talisman grows That makes all men brothers that use it . . . who knows? That blaze which erewhile from the Boulevart out-broke, It has ended where wisdom begins, Sir,--in smoke. Messieurs Lopez (whatever your publicists write) Have done more in their way human kind to unite, Perchance, than ten Prudhons.
STRANGER.
Yes. Ah, what a scene!
ALFRED.
Humph! Nature is here too pretentious. Her mien Is too haughty. One likes to be coax'd, not compell'd, To the notice such beauty resents if withheld. She seems to be saying too plainly, "Admire me!" And I answer, "Yes, madam, I do: but you tire me."
STRANGER.
That sunset, just now though . . .
ALFRED.
A very old trick! One would think that the sun by this time must be sick Of blushing at what, by this time, he must know Too well to be shocked by--this world.
STRANGER.
Ah, 'tis so With us all. 'Tis the sinner that best knew the world At Twenty, whose lip is, at sixty, most curl'd With disdain of its follies. You stay at Luchon?
ALFRED.
A day or two only.
STRANGER.
The season is done.
ALFRED.
Already?
STRANGER.
'Twas shorter this year than the last. Folly soon wears her shoes out. She dances so fast We are all of us tired.
ALFRED.
You know the place well?
STRANGER.
I have been there two seasons.
ALFRED.
Pray who is the Belle Of the Baths at this moment?
STRANGER.
The same who has been The belle of all places in which she is seen; The belle of all Paris last winter; last spring The belle of all Baden.
ALFRED.
An uncommon thing!
STRANGER.
Sir, an uncommon beauty! . . . I rather should say An uncommon character. Truly, each day One meets women whose beauty is equal to hers, But none with the charm of Lucile de Nevers.
ALFRED.
Madame de Nevers!
STRANGER.
Do you know her?
ALFRED.
I know Or, rather, I knew her--a long time ago. I almost forget . . .
STRANGER.
What a wit! what a grace In her language! her movements! what play in her face! And yet what a sadness she seems to conceal!
ALFRED.
You speak like a lover.
STRANGER.
I speak as I feel, But not like a lover. What