“HE MIGHT HAVE BEEN A RUSSIAN”
There was no lack of cheerful and even entertaining chatter at Madame
Morelle’s table. Her house was a popular one, for it offered many
attractions to the sojourner in Paris; the rooms were clean, the
table, if not lavishly spread, was adequate, though the usual French
economies were apparent, and the prices were very moderate. Madame,
herself, was thoroughly French, quick, excitable, ready to take offence
at slight provocation, but kind-hearted and an excellent manager. That
quiet which is a distinguishing mark of gentility did not pervade her
establishment. If Madame shut a door she slammed it; if she gave an
order it was heard up and down stairs; if she chided it was with such
violence that the trembling maids cringed before her and hastened away
at the first chance of escape; yet they adored her and imitated her in
a small way, though Nanette’s voice was silver sweet, and the smiling
little Normandy peasant, Marie, could not have scared a kitten. Madame
was a dressy person of large presence, who sailed around her premises
in elaborate _matinées_ before the _déjeuner_ and appeared in elegant
costumes at dinner, her loud-voiced volubility announcing her arrival
wherever she went.
At table Gabriella found herself placed by the side of a young Russian,
while Sidney’s next neighbor was a Dutchman who wore a large seal
ring upon his forefinger. Miss Cavendish sat between the two girls
and had for her vis-à-vis the elder Miss Bailey, whose chair crowded
that of a little angular American school-marm who spoke French with
such a decided Yankee accent that Gabriella dared not look at her
friends after first hearing her speak. A bluff old Yorkshireman with a
deep rolling voice and hearty manner came next, and beyond these the
company presented the same variety of nationalities ending at the head
of the long table with Madame Morelle herself, who kept up a lively
conversation accompanied by many expressive little shrieks, rollings of
eyes and shrugs of shoulders.
After dinner it was the custom of the boarders to repair to the pretty
little salon which Madame assured her newly arrived guests was at the
disposal of those who wished to occupy it. The young Dutchman followed
Sidney to a quiet corner to continue the conversation favorably begun
at the table. Miss Bailey drew Gabriella to her side, while Miss
Mildred engaged Miss Cavendish’s attention. The entrance of Owen Morgan
put an end to all this, for he insisted upon taking all his friends
out for a ride on top of an omnibus to see the boulevards by night.
He had greeted them all as if they were old friends, though Gabriella
stiffened ever so slightly at his appropriation of herself as a matter
of course. Miss Bailey declared that she did not know that Mildred
ought to go, but that young creature with a petulant air pouted and
bridled until her sister gave in, though insisting that she would
prefer to stay at home. She made it known that she did not like to
climb to the top of an omnibus, and that she did not care to stay below
by herself. It seemed a matter difficult to adjust until the young
Dutchman threw himself into the breach and offered to sit below if
Sidney would bear him company, and thus it was arranged.
“You are a dear,” said Gabriella to Sidney as they went to get their
hats. “You will miss the best of it by not being above, but I will
change with you coming back. How does the Dutchman happen to go with
us?”
“Mr. Morgan invited him, for it seems that Miss Bailey knows something
about him.”
“What is his name, anyhow, and where did he get his ring? Is he a
burgomaster or something? He looks exactly like some of those portraits
in the Museum at Amsterdam. I suppose his name is van Stecklenhorst or
Sniffelberger.”
“It is van Schepel.”
“That’s not quite so bad. I knew it had to be a van something on
account of that monster ring. Can he speak intelligible English?”
“Oh, yes, he can do fairly well, and, like most foreigners, he is eager
to improve his opportunities. I think that is why he has fastened upon
us; we are but agents in the matter of his education.”
“Oh!” Gabriella looked incredulous, but Sidney evidently considered
that she had discovered the facts in the case.
It was a warm night and the boulevards were thronged. Every little
table on the sidewalks appeared to be occupied. At the brilliantly
lighted cafés crowds were gathered; carriages dashed up and down,
automobiles shot ahead of the rumbling ’buses.
“Isn’t it gay?” Gabriella turned to speak to her companion. “Why, where
is Miss Cavendish?” she asked in surprise.
“There were not seats enough above,” Mr. Morgan told her, “and you know
you ran up ahead of us all, so I am deputed to look after you.”
“Dear me, I thought the man said ‘quatre places.’”
“So he did, but some others held tickets.”
“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to oust Gem out of a place; I supposed she was
directly behind me. Can’t we make room for just one more? There, some
one is getting off?”
“If you prefer,” returned Mr. Morgan a little stiffly, “I will go and
notify Miss Cavendish, though I may lose my place meanwhile, and you
would be left up here unprotected.”
“I don’t know that I should mind that,” answered Gabriella perversely.
“But this is Paris. Would you elect to travel around New York or
Washington by yourself alone at night?”
“Oh, dear, yes,” returned the girl flippantly. “It is my common
custom.” And to her delight Mr. Morgan looked shocked. “You know
American girls always do as they please,” she went on. “Of course we
carry pistols whenever we go out, for if we stay out after midnight
we might be held up by a highwayman; they are so frequently met with,
you know. I remember once when a pair of banditti demanded my money or
my life I had forgotten to load my pistol before I started out, and I
simply scared them off by a bluff.”
“Gabriella, what are you talking about?” came a voice from the other
side of the bench. “Mr. Morgan, she is simply fooling you,” said Miss
Cavendish, who had taken the one place unobserved by the other two.
“Why, Gem, how did you get up here?” exclaimed Gabriella.
“I noticed that some one had made room for me, and so I came up to join
you. What cock-and-bull story was she telling you, Mr. Morgan? Has she
been trying to make you believe that American girls go around at night
at will without proper escort?”
“Something like that,” he admitted.
“But why try to produce that impression, Gabriella?” Miss Cavendish
inquired.
“Oh, because Englishmen are so dense and it is so easy to fool them
into thinking extreme things about us,” returned Gabriella, laughing.
“Am I dense?” asked Mr. Morgan.
“Sometimes,” Gabriella did not hesitate to say. “If an English girl had
told one of our men such a tale as that he would have matched it with
something a little stronger instead of half believing it.”
“Ah, but you see an English girl would never have dreamed of doing such
a thing,” replied Mr. Morgan, as if that settled it.
“I believe you,” returned Gabriella fervently. And here they reached
the café toward which they were bound.
“Isn’t it fun?” Gabriella was nothing if not appreciative. “I am so
glad to see Paris by night. It is what I longed to do. I think I shall
like to spend half my time on top of the omnibuses.”
They seated themselves at tables before a small café, where ices were
served them, and where a strange drink termed “_limonade gazeuse_”
took the place of an American lemonade or an English “lemon squash.”
At their leisure they watched the passing crowds, which seemed only to
increase as the hour grew later. “It is splendid,” said Gabriella as
they made ready to go, “but--”
“But what?” Mr. Morgan asked.
“It isn’t Italy.”
“That is what Gabriella always says,” Sidney remarked. “As if we
expected it would be Italy. She is Italy daft and nothing less than a
villa at Sorrento and an orange grove will ever satisfy her.”
“I am thinking of buying one,” said Gabriella nonchalantly. “Mamma
would like the life, I am sure. I need only give up a few things, you
know; a few utterly unnecessary things like more diamonds and a new
automobile, and my yacht. I should like to try one of those row-boats
where the men stand up and row; they look so picturesque, and I have no
doubt I can get a villa quite cheaply.”
Miss Cavendish bit her lip and shook her head at the girl, who at this
silent admonition only chattered on.
“I think I must get Signor Rondinelli to look out for a bargain for me.”
Mr. Morgan glanced at the young Dutchman, who was listening
interestedly, and then he looked gravely at Gabriella, who answered
with an innocent smile. “No,” she said, addressing him, “I shall never
be quite happy to live anywhere but in Italy. I wonder I have been so
long finding it out.”
“It must be time to go,” said Miss Bailey, who had been only half
listening to this talk. “We shall be locked out and shall have to ring
up the concierge, and he is so cross.”
“His wife is worse,” returned Sidney; “I always rush past her so that
I may avoid her black looks. I think she knows we are the ones who
allowed the ink-bottle to roll out the window.”
“She lacks a sense of humor,” said Gabriella, as she and Mr. Morgan led
the way up the bright boulevard.
“I believe you Americans charge us with a lack of humor,” Mr. Morgan
ventured to say.
“I don’t think I am capable of judging, having never been in England.
You are the first Englishman I have ever known.”
“And my sense of humor is weak?”
“How shall I test it? Let me see, you have rather a pretty wit at
times, as they used to say. Do you enjoy Alice in Wonderland?”
“I certainly do.”
“Then you stand outside the ban. I simply adore Alice.”
“I am delighted that you agree with me on that one point.”
“Don’t I always agree with you?”
“Seldom. Except at San Miniato I can recall but few instances.”
“And I suppose in your lordly Briton way you like girls to agree with
you; to be very sweet and say ‘Quite so,’ or, ‘Fancy,’ or ‘Ow,’ and
allow you to do most of the talking. Have you the English opinion
which insists that Americans talk too much?”
Mr. Morgan considered the question with gravity. “I think some of them
talk more than is necessary,” he answered guardedly. “At times I have
met those who would be more charming if they added a little repose to
their manner.”
“And a little more softness to their quality of voice.”
“Quite so.”
“And no doubt you like a floppy, flowing style of dress.” Gabriella
began to wax indignant.
“No, I like the way American girls dress. I can always tell them from
English girls.”
“How do you distinguish us, pray?”
“By your belts,” said Mr. Morgan, confidentially. “American girls
always wear their belts so they go up in the back and down in front,
and English girls wear theirs in just the opposite way.”
Gabriella laughed gleefully.
“And you have a way of putting on your veils which no other girls can
imitate,” continued Mr. Morgan, “and you wear less jewelry, trinkets
and chains and things, you know.”
“I have noticed that,” returned Gabriella, “though I don’t think that
can be said of all Americans; some women are overloaded even when they
are not in the drawing-room.”
“But surely jewels are very feminine. You wouldn’t have women discard
them, would you?”
“No, but I would have them wear such ornaments only upon appropriate
occasions.”
“Ow!” Mr. Morgan was pondering over this as Gabriella fell back that
she might join Miss Cavendish.
“We are discussing the differences between the English and the
Americans,” Gabriella informed her friend.
“But why discuss?” rejoined Miss Cavendish. “We don’t pretend to be
alike. Why should we be? It is the very distinctive difference which
makes the charm. One doesn’t want England to be America, else one might
as well stay at home. I have no patience with Anglomaniacs. We can
love and admire the English without slavishly aping them. Why should
an American persist in calling stables ‘mews,’ and roofs ‘leads,’
when it is not the custom to do so in her own country? It is deadly
affected, and those who try to out-English the English seem to me to
be either ashamed of their own country or to desire to make themselves
laughing-stocks.”
“I quite agree with you,” returned Mr. Morgan. “Americans are
unaffectedly breezy and are charming enough for anyone. Why they should
ever wish to be neither one thing nor the other I fail to see. When
one lives in a country it is sometimes advisable to adopt certain
expressions, but these need not be extreme ones, and such adoptions
are usually of slow growth.”
“Then I may keep my American vocabulary, may I?” said Gabriella
laughing.
“Pray do, if you want to preserve your individuality,” Mr. Morgan
returned.
“Oh, I’ve not the faintest ambition to be English,” returned the girl
with a little toss of her head.
“What did make you so contrary to-night?” Miss Cavendish asked her when
they had reached their room.
“Was I contrary? I don’t know that I was.”
“You certainly tried to give Mr. Morgan a wrong impression of yourself.”
“He is such an excellent subject for my imagination to work upon, and
you know I told you I meant to pretend that I was the heiress.”
“Do you want him to think that?”
“Certainly. Why not?”
“I didn’t know,” returned Miss Cavendish feebly. “He seems such an
honest, single-hearted young man; it seems rather a shame to jolly him.”
“It wasn’t all on his account. There was the Dutchman, you know. I am
seized with a wild yearning for that monster ring. I would wrap a cord
around it and wear it on my thumb, if I had it. I think I must ask
Sidney to change places with me at table so I can feast my eyes on that
marvel. Wouldn’t it be lovely to get him to teach me Dutch and have
him point out the words with his forefinger?”
“Gabriella, you are the silliest child I know. I don’t wonder the
girls at school used to call you Gaby. Would you entice that poor
unsuspecting young Dutchman into your toils?”
“For the sake of the ring I shall have to do it, if I can. I did have
designs upon that barbarous, wide-mouthed Russian who sits next me, but
unhappily I asked him if he drank Japanese tea and he hasn’t spoken to
me since. I may try to reinstate myself in his good graces; it would
be rather fun to have a barbarous Russian in love with you, rather
exciting and full of action such an experience would be, I fancy. If
you are so impressed with the virtues of Owen Glendower, you may take
him off my hands at the Salon to-morrow, and I’ll talk to the Dutchman,
for he is going, too.”
“I though you had selected the simple Taffy as a soubriquet for your
Welsh friend.”
“So I had, until I was suddenly reminded that I was filching from Du
Maurier’s ‘Trilby,’ and as our friend already had the Owen it was easy
to add the Glendower.”
The expedition to the Salon was successfully undertaken so far as all
were concerned except Owen Morgan, for spying her neighbor at table,
catalogue in hand, Gabriella had no difficulty in attaching him to her
side, leaving Mr. Morgan to Miss Cavendish’s good graces, while Mr.
van Schepel followed in Sidney’s train. “It was my mission to explain
the pictures to that young man,” Gabriella told Miss Cavendish when
taken to task for her disaffection. “He doesn’t know very much about
art and I thought it was the part of a Christian to try to broaden his
knowledge of things artistic. You didn’t mind, did you, Gem?”
“No, but Mr. Morgan did. He made the engagement with you and it was not
courteous to desert him.”
“But he invited us all, and he had you, what more did he want?”
“He evidently wanted more, or less, since you are not so big as I.”
“Well, never mind; I’ll make it all right with him. Let’s talk about
the Russian; he is quite a new type. He is the son of a count who has
estates in the Ural mountains. Isn’t that interesting? I wonder how
it would seem to live there. Do you suppose he has a castle and would
give his daughter-in-law all the sables she could wear? I thought his
name must be queer and it is: Rowtowsky. What became of Sidney and the
Dutchman?”
“Gabriella, you fly from one subject to another like a--”
“Humming-bird, yes, I have been told that. I want to tell Sidney that
I’d rather not change places with her. The Russian is to the fore, now.
He is going to give us tea to-night, and show us how they drink it in
Russia. I made him entirely forget what I said about Japanese tea. He
is so very homesick, poor fellow, and says he misses his home customs.
They always drink tea about ten o’clock at night and have a cosy time
over it. I believe he said they put preserves in it.”
“Nonsense, Gabriella.”
“I am sure he did. You will see to-night.”
Her prediction proved true, for the Russian, who had brought out his
own packet of choice tea, brewed it after his own fashion and invited
all the ladies to partake. He set forth quite a little feast for them,
cakes, fruit, and preserved strawberries, which latter he begged
they would try in their tea. At home, he told them, the men drank
from glasses, the ladies from cups, and a spoonful of the sweets was
considered an addition to a cup of tea.
Gabriella was the first to try it, and was enthusiastic in her praises,
to the delight of the Russian, who became quite gay over his little
tea-party and who made a genial and courteous host. The Dutchman never
left Sidney’s side, to Gabriella’s delight.
She sought Sidney’s room at a later hour. “Wasn’t it fun?” she cried,
as she established herself on the foot of the bed. “Shall you like
living in Holland, Sidney? How dear you will look in a little white cap
with a pair of brass bed-springs over your ears, or will you prefer
the gold plate with a cap a-top and a bonnet perched upon that? And
however will you manage to keep your house as clean as you will be
expected to do?”
“I shall like it quite as well as you will like Russia,” retorted
Sidney, “and I shall be able to keep my house clean quite as easily as
you will know how to control a half savage household.”
Gabriella enjoyed the reply to the fullest. “It will be so exciting to
have bouts with the moujiks, is that what they call them? They shall
have so many lashes apiece if they don’t behave themselves. I shall
have to learn to take preserves _to_ my tea, as Miss Bailey says,
but it will be very hard to learn the language; they say it is so
difficult; that is one of the things that depresses me.”
“And what are some of the others?”
“I am afraid of having a bomb thrown under my carriage. It would be so
unpleasant to be gathered up in a basket and be buried in sections.”
“Don’t mention such ghastly possibilities,” said Sidney in horror. “Go
to bed before you give me occasion for nightmare. I’m tired to death.”
“So am I, but it is a pleasant sort of tired, and though I long to
lie awake and think over the delightful things that happen every day
I never have a chance, for I drop off to sleep right away. One thing
before we part, Sid. Did you see Miss Bailey waylay me in the hall, the
simple-minded dear?”
“Yes, what did she want?”
“She told me that I mustn’t mind Mr. Morgan’s not coming to-night, for
she remembered that he had told her of a business call he had to make;
as if I were interested.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her it was a matter of no interest to me, and she said ‘Ow,
my deah,’ in that lovely English way of hers and looked shocked. I
think she imagined in her simple old British heart that I was telling
tarradiddles.”
“And were you?” asked Sidney, sharply.
“Good-night,” returned Gabriella.