CHAPTER XLII

The train lurched to an uncertain halt. From one window they saw an

empty field, from the other a hillside checkered with vegetable gardens.

"We had better descend here. Thank you, m'sieu. We are not very aware

of our surroundings." Spike added with characteristic frankness, "We

are very happy!"

The stranger smiled. "You can get a b-b-bus here," he said. When they

had climbed out, he stood at the door and waved his paper.

They didn't even know where they were! It seemed to be no place. A

small yellow shed, a shabby phaeton, already rolling away, and all

around the smooth hills, a great silence, under the blue arch of the

sky. But when they started to walk to the lane that curved away over

the fields, they found the space before the shed was roped off and at a

sort of imaginary gate, like something in a pantomime, two bearded men

in blue uniforms awaited them.

The guards wanted tickets. When they got them they looked even more

suspicious than at first.

"_Encore huit sous!_"

Spike sighed with relief that they were not to be arrested for passing

their station! "Where are we?" he asked courteously.

"Limours!"

"And what is Limours?"

"Limours!" Shrugs. A knitting of black brows.

"Certainly!" said Marie. She touched Spike's elbow and they passed

through to the lane, he a little reluctant to abandon the discussion.

Marie excused herself and when she came running back she had thrust a

poppy in her blouse. Her cheeks were as red.

She shoved Spike so that he stumbled. He turned to retaliate and she

stood in mock fear, her hands thrust out before her.

"No. No. No!" They were laughing hard. Spike caught her wrists, but

dropped them quickly. She turned to see what he was staring at.

An old woman bent over a crooked stick came toward them. She wore rusty

black and a lacy cap. From a little wizened face she wished them _Bon

jour_!

"_Bon jour!_"

"_Bon jour!_"

She beat at the hedge with her stick.

"What are you hunting for?" Marie asked.

"My pig." She did not stop.

"I thought it was the old witch!"

"Don't you know we are through with her?" Marie exclaimed. "You silly!"

They could smell flowers. The silence was an amazement, and they heard

that their footsteps made no sound. They stopped and stood together to

listen to the silence. A cloud, like an island of cotton wool, drifted

in the sky.

The lane brought them to a crossroads where there were a general store,

a smithy, and what seemed to be a farm house.

Spike touched his hat to a little man with pointed moustaches and a

plum-colored waistcoat over a stomach round as a ball.

"Could you tell us what is the best restaurant in this land?"

"Mine, I think," said he, pointing to the house with his head.

Spike bowed. "Then after we walk along the road a little we shall

return to dine here!"

That would be delightful. The little man twirled his moustaches and

looked at Marie.

The footpath writhed at the side of a road covered with white dust. A

bearded goat watched them pass. Next they met a priest with a red and

sweaty face under his broad hat.

"_Bon jour!_" they said respectfully.

"_Bon soir!_" he replied. So the afternoon was drawing to its close.

The white road turned and here unexpectedly was a fussy, crowded

village--one curving street, a line of shop windows, carriages at the

curb, a Ford or two, a youth starting a motorcycle.

Spike exclaimed to see the roof of the high old church. But the square

spire was an ugly nineteenth century alteration. They stood, heads

tilted in the sun, their mingled shadows measuring the width of the

square. It was hot.

"Shall we go in?"

Inside was spicy coolness. Through gray dusk a shaft of sunlight sloped

down from a high, peaked window. The altar was snowy white, white

marble, white silk, rank upon rank of slender white candles. The

church had been quite empty.

Spike let the hush enclose him. One minute before his ears had endured

the warring sounds of Paris--his lungs had accepted the stifling fumes

of its atmosphere. Now it was far away. The church waited, watching

them. Spike felt that Marie shared his feeling of a mysterious,

reverent, listening silence. He looked down to find her clear dark eyes

speaking to him.

He put his arm around her and kissed her on the lips. For a still

minute they held each other.

Flecker's magic · 第 42 / 44 章