The "_bosquet_" of the little roadside restaurant proved to be an
untidy backyard, enclosed on one side by a row of whitewashed sheds and
separated on two sides from a wheatfield by a row of low apple trees
and a white fence. The wheat was calm in the light of the sunset and
broad as a sea.
A cheerful, homely girl in a spotted apron spread a cloth over
a square table under an apple tree. Marie found a combination
basin-mirror-watertank hanging against the white wall of the house and
here she made her toilet while Spike, smoking a cigarette at the table,
looked on. A dove in a cage made a mournful sound.
The homely girl, who seemed glad to serve lovers, brought a
disappointing supper. The house afforded only--pork chops, and lettuce,
and a long loaf, and--bananas! Spike decided on a half carafe of
_rosée_, a wine that bored him. He chose it now because the meal was a
disappointment!
"If I had my way," he told Marie, "I would have maybe little scallops,
made with crumbs, and with them I would have a plate of mayonnaise--the
scallops would be hot and the mayonnaise cold; the thin slices of rye
bread with sweet butter, and for dessert--I wouldn't have any dessert.
I'd have some more scallops. And the wine would be champagne, I think."
Marie said the chops were very good. She was hungry, and so, indeed,
was Spike; but he continued with his talk. "Once I had a supper with
beans--beans baked for hours in a crockery pot with a handle, and in
the pot besides beans were some onions and molasses and pork. I ate
the beans with a salad of endive with green peppers; and little round
rolls, brown on the top and the bottom and fluffy white inside. At the
end I had apricot compote with cream, and little hard, salty crackers
with a kind of lovely yellow cheese we have in Minnesota! I drank
hard cider that fizzed.... That was a good supper. Everything had a
beautiful, contrasting flavor. I think apricots when they are cooked
right are marvelous. You eat the thin salty crackers at the same time,
you know--you put butter on them and then a little piece of cheese and
you eat a little cracker and then a little compote...."
It was quiet in the "_bosquet_" and cool. A black hen came begging. The
great clouds were ruddy, and the horizon flamed. At the far edge of the
wheatfield a man with a scythe walked slowly, the only moving figure in
a vast world. Marie dreamed.
"I started to ask you on the train--now I'll ask again...." She smiled
withholding her approval. "Did you think of wishing for me, when you
were trying to decide what you wanted most?"
Spike was surprised. He hadn't! She was asking, "Were you sure of me?"
What should he say? He thought of several lies but none was any good.
"No, not once!"
Marie flushed and looked down. "I wonder why?"
"I wonder, too.... Perhaps because I wouldn't want you if you didn't
love me, and if you did, I needed no help!"
"But didn't you think to wish that I would love you!"
"No," he confessed. "I did not know it in words, but my loving you and
you loving me was the same thing.... If I loved you but you didn't love
me I wouldn't love you. Your love and my love are one living thing. I
wanted to find you again because I loved you, and my love grew every
day ... and that is all I could think about."
She tipped back in her chair, holding on the table, looking at him
gravely. Spike got up and stood by her. "You are so beautiful, Marie.
And you're so funny!" He said in English: "I love you!"
Marie repeated it humbly. "What does that mean?"
Spike bent down and kissed her. She touched his cheek with her palm.
Then he brought his chair next to hers.
"I like the way you move," she said. "I like everything about you,
the way you use your knife and fork, the way your hair grows on your
neck.... It's a little too long now." She leaned against him. "Don't
you feel happy? I do--all over me."
"We'll walk in the woods at Barbizon. We'll go to the movie on the
_rue de la Gaitie_, and we'll dance at the _Bal Bullier_. I'll show you
the Swedish foxtrot they do in Minnesota."
"We'll be happy. It seems all impossible. I say to myself this isn't
really happening. We really didn't meet the old woman in the lane, nor
find the purple flowers. There isn't any such sky! I am so happy that
it can't be true.... Can you sing, Spike?... I suppose I'll have to
return to the shop Monday.... Was that a drop of rain?"
The sky was darkening. Spike felt a drop on his hand. Well, it was
almost time for the train. They went back along the lane to the
station. "Here," Spike said, "we met the old woman with a stick!" So it
was already history!
A train apparently as empty as the one that brought them took them
back. As it found its way through the first shadows of night, showers
ran across the fields and beat against the window of their compartment.
Spike held Marie in his arms and they said very little.
They climbed the steps of the _Gare de Seaux_ and knew they were tired.
"Your gloves," Spike remembered. She sat at their table while he went
to interview the _patron_. A boy brought an evening paper filled with
news of the earthquake. For a long time she waited patiently. Night
came and the sky was a deep purple. The street lights were shining gold.
In the cavernous shadows under the trees Marie saw a crouching figure.
"Spike!" she called softly. "Spike!"
The pale oval of his face moved upward in the dark.
"It is not there!" she said, going quickly to him. "Oh, it isn't there!"
He went on searching.
"I want it back for just a minute," he protested in a weary voice.
"Spike, dear!" Her voice and his voice made a sad bewildered music
under the trees. "My dear, the ring is gone!" But he went on, moving
back and forth, his hands feeling over the ground.
"You threw it away!" he muttered.
"But, dear, if we knew we could find it we would not dare to look!"
He moved toward her as if to strike her with his fist.
He dropped his arm. "Maybe," he sighed. "Maybe, I am so tired!" He
reached out for her as if all his life she had been near to help him.
They walked down the _rue d'Assas_. The golden reflections of the
street lamps wriggled deep into the pavement which the rain had left
like polished ebony.
THE END