Gisors. Pretty place, don't you think? Picturesque. Did you ever see so
many canals--or smell so many?--and the little cottages out of another
century? Packed roofs--green trees--well-sweeps--I like this; I'm glad I
had the sense to come here. Edgar, will you oblige me by carrying that
cane so that child doesn't come within an ace of catching her mouth on
it every other second? I declare, Mrs. Braytree, I wish we hadn't run on
to that young man. Of course he's a nice fellow and all that, but young
men are a great trial when you have two--
"Let's turn down here. Most of the streets seem to be canal tow-paths. I
vow, this _is_ pretty. I could settle down in a place like this and live
till I died. What do you suppose the people here do to amuse
themselves, anyhow? From the way they look at us with their mouths open
I should imagine that we were regarded in the light of a great event.
And if that's the case, they must be pretty hard up for sport. Oh, well,
I presume it's enough for them to paddle about on the green waters and
stir up the miasma--as much sense as foreigners have.
"And so these are the walls--ramparts, I mean. Well, they're fairly
high. Wonder how high they are, anyhow? Edgar, will you do me the
courtesy not to be pointing to the left with that cane of yours when I
turn suddenly to the right again? I beg your pardon for seeming heated,
Mrs. Braytree; but he really--
"Let's find a gate and go in; seems to be a park inside. I should think
there _was_ 'little left to be seen of the castle!' I don't see anything
at all of it. Maybe they took it down and built the walls higher just to
fool tourists. Well, I didn't come to Gisors to caper about in a park;
let's go out and look at the church--the guide-book says the church is
worth seeing. I think there's something very touching about guide-book
enthusiasm: it keeps up so consistently right through to the end. I feel
as if my own enthusiasm was most run through now. I don't know how Paris
will affect me. Edgar, if I trip on that cane you'll have to pay my
doctor's bill. What makes you handle it as you do, anyway? I like to see
a cane light and alert--not one that drags through the world in the
style of yours. To judge from your cane, I should say you hadn't been in
bed before three for a month. I have to speak sharply to that fellow,
Mrs. Braytree; he is about as wooden-headed as they make. Came across
the ocean with us, and pestered the life out of me. You don't know what
an ocean voyage is with two attractive girls--I _beg_ your pardon; I
forgot your four. Dear me! we were speaking of--yes--of Gisors, of
course. I vow, I'm disappointed in it as a whole. I wish we'd gone to
Les Andelys instead. Les Andelys is marked with an asterisk in the
guide-book, and there's a castle there built by Coeur-de-Lion. By the
way, Mrs. Braytree, the Coeur-de-Lion _itself_ is buried in Rouen. Did
you know that? Nice joke, eh? But, dear, dear, if there's no castle here
when we get here, perhaps there'd be none there when we got there. I'm
beginning to look upon Europe as a confidence-game; I--
"Well is _that_ the castle! Great Scott! but it must have been big. It's
big yet, and the book said there was very little left to see. I'm
beginning to lose faith in that book. Picturesque idea, having the park
hide the ruins till you come right smash on to them. Clever people, the
French; make everything put the best foot foremost. Fine old round
tower; nice tumble-down guard-chamber! I like this. Let's go around the
other side. Great place, eh? Worth a trip to see. Edgar, let me have
your cane to point with. There, do you see that old staircase? Looks
Roman to me; what do you think? I tell you, a man could write an
historical novel out of old ruins if he prowled long enough. Come on
now; let's meander on down town and look at the church. As soon as I
look at anything, I'm always ready to look at something else. Let's go
out on this side and go back to town the other way. Then we'll look at
the church, and then we'll put you and Edgar on the train for Rouen,
Mrs. Braytree. What did you say, Yvonne? He isn't going to Rouen? Where
is he going? To Paris with us! Well, well, well! all I can say is, I do
admire his nerve. I never in all my life went where I wasn't asked, and
took a cane. Now don't you see why no woman could be happy with a man
like that? I never saw the beat. I tell you frankly, Yvonne, I don't
like his ways and I don't like him. If you girls had let him alone on
the boat, he'd have let us alone here. I declare, my day is just about
spoiled. Your mother has trusted you girls to me, and I haven't drawn a
quiet breath since. I did take a little comfort there in Rouen; but if
I'd known that Lee was in Havre, I'd have been on thorns even there.
"Well, where is the church? Ask some one. What did she say? Down here?
Down we go, then. Ah, I suppose that's it under the sidewalk. Nice
commanding situation for a church, to grade a street by its tower! Why
don't they put in the guide-book, 'Street commands a fine view of the
roof?' There isn't time to go inside unless Mrs. Braytree wants to miss
her train, and we don't want her to do that.
"This is the street to the _gare_, and we'll run right along. I expect
we can get something to eat there, and get that 1:30 train for Beauvais.
There isn't anything in Beauvais that would interest you, Mrs. Braytree;
but there's a church there that I want to see. The guide-book says that
Mr. Ruskin says that the roof has got a clear vertical fall that not
many rocks in the Alps can equal; I don't just know what a clear
vertical fall may be, but if there's a church anywhere near as high as
an Alp, I don't want to miss seeing it.
"There's the clock. You just have time to get aboard comfortably. Don't
you want to go with them, Edgar? Well, I thought maybe you might.
Good-by, good-by; delighted to have met you. Good-by. Oh, yes, of
course. In Paris.
"There, they're gone, darn 'em! Now let's get some lunch. Did you ever
see such a collection as those girls? It must have been a bitter pill
when, after managing to assimilate the looks of the three oldest, the
little one appeared with her eyes laid out bias. Come in here; we can
get something to eat here, I don't care what; but I want plenty. Don't
lose your cane, Edgar; life wouldn't be life to you without it, I
expect. I like these country hotel entrances, through a carriage-house
and a duck-yard, fall over a cat, and come in. Tell her we want dinner
for four, and prompt. You put that in good forcible French for me,
Edgar, and I'll be grateful to you till I die. Let's sit down. Let's
eat."
_Beauvais._
"Now, young people, I call this making a day count. This is my idea of
getting about. Breakfast in Rouen, lunch in Gisors, Beauvais for a
sandwich, and we'll dine in Paris.
"What time is it? Three o'clock. Well, we want to head straight for that
cathedral. Seems as if it ought to show most anywhere over a little, low
town like this, but I don't see it. Ask someone--ask any one. Well, what
did they say? Right across the square. Whose statue is that in the
middle? Joan of Arc? Jeanne Hachette? Who was Jeanne Hachette? Girl who
captured flag from Charles the Bold, eh? Is that why they called him
'the Bold'? Sort of sarcastic on his letting a girl carry off his flag,
I should consider. Well, when did she live? Has she got her year under
her? 1492. Seventy years after Joan. I shouldn't have thought she'd have
inspired other young women in this part of the country to emulate her.
[Illustration: "'Tell her we want dinner for four, and prompt'"]
"Do we go up here? Ugh, how I hate walking over cobble-stones! Clean; of
course they're clean. I didn't say that I thought they were dirty. I
said I hated to walk on 'em.
"What's that chopped-off creation before us? _Not_ the cathedral?
Well--I--vow!
"Is _that_ what I--what we--
[Illustration: Beauvais]
"Where's the front of it? What _did_ happen to it? And what _was_ Mr.
Ruskin thinking of when he compared it to an Alp! I don't want to fall
off of anywhere, but I'd choose the roof of that cathedral to start from
any day in preference to the lowest Alp they make. 'Clear vertical fall'
eh? I wish I knew what that meant.
"Well, let's go in. Where's the door? That little, unpretentious one
looks feasible. Come on. Well, Edgar, are you coming, too, or do you
choose to stay outside with your stick? I can't help it, Edna; I feel
irritated at his being here at all, and then I'm naturally disappointed
over this church. I must say the biggest thing about it is that blank
wall stopping up where they left off. This is the kind of thing I've
come several thousand miles to look at, is it? Well, may as well go in,
I suppose.
"So this is in the inside! Fine lot of carpets hung up to try and cover
the deficiencies, eh?--High roof,--funny sort of shock you get whenever
you look towards the front. Sort of like turning around and hitting your
cane, eh, Edgar? Girls, this cathedral was begun in 1180, time of Henry
II, and they quit in 1555 while Bloody Mary was abroad and never got to
the front end in the four hundred years. Well, well! dear, dear!
[Illustration: "'What's that chopped-off creation before us?'"]
"Come on, girls, we may as well go out; I feel like going to the station
and heading for Paris. I suppose that's the next move in the game. You
can stay here as long as you like, Edgar; we won't hurry you.
"Come, Yvonne, you walk with me. Did you ever see anything like that
young man's gall? Your friend Lee couldn't make any points around him.
Just hooks right on to us, and stays hooked. I declare, if I carried a
cane I bet I'd give him one punch he'd remember long after. I'd
sincerely beg his pardon. I didn't like him on the steamer; I've got no
use for young men of his stamp. I--"
_Gare du Nord, Paris._
"So this is Paris! Now, Edgar, I have one favor to ask of you--will you
kindly allow me to manage my own affairs while you manage yours? I know
just what to do, and I'll take Yvonne with me to do it. You can take
Edna up to the hotel. Looked disappointed, didn't he? Counting on
endearing himself to me forever by his able-bodied assistance, I'll
wager; but I don't want any young man minding my business. Tell that
blue blouse to take these checks and look up five trunks in a hurry.
What did he say? We haven't got to overhaul them again here, have we?
Well, I am--I certainly just _am_. Have we got to hunt 'em up? Where?
Well, ask him? Round back of this crazy mob? Well, tell him to go first.
What's this system of wildly speculating wheat-pits? Baggage-counters,
eh? And will you look at the baggage! Talk about your 'clear vertical
falls!' Those trunks on top will soon know more than Ruskin ever did.
"Where's our man gone? Yvonne, do you know where that fellow went to?
Well, ask some one. Look out--that baggage truck will be Juggernauting
right over you before you know it. Now, where _is_ the porter? I call
this a pretty state of affairs--porter, valises, and trunk-checks all
gone together. I thought you were watching him or I would have done so.
Do you suppose we ought to speak to a policeman? I think we ought to.
But will you look at the trunk-unlocking that's going on--good as a
play--look how mad that old lady is; hear her give it to him in good
English. Guess something got broke in transit. Keep a sharp eye out for
that porter, Yvonne. Here come some more trunks, and more, and more yet.
I wonder if this is regular, or if we've struck a rush. Where _is_ that
porter? I think we ought to be speaking to a policeman, don't you?
Here's a choice new invoice of a couple of thousand more trunks; that
fellow will never be able to find ours, I know. Supposing he has found
them and gone off with them already. Hey, look at that lady jumping up
and down! She sees _her_ trunk, I'll bet a dollar. Well, I'd jump up and
down if I could see mine. Yvonne, I really think we ought to speak to a
policeman. Could you give a description of the man? I only remember that
he wore a blue blouse. Oh, yes; and he had 'Commissionaire' across
the front of his cap. Hello, here are nine trucks all at once, just a
few million more additions to the turmoil. I tell you, we won't get out
of here to-night, I don't believe. I vow, I wish I'd given the checks to
Edgar, as he suggested. I really think we ought to be calling a
policeman. Here are fourteen trucks all loaded to the gunwales, and two
mass-meetings and one convention of tourists all at once. Yvonne, this
is beginning to look serious to me; I think that really we ought to
call--
[Illustration: "'Look how mad that old lady is'"]
"Oh, there he is with the whole of the stuff on one truck. Good idea;
smart chap; and he wasn't so very long either, considering."
VI
YVONNE TO HER MOTHER
_Paris._
Dearest Mama: Well we _are_ arrived! It _is_ Paris at last! But I
thought we should surely die in transit. I don't know what Uncle would
have said if he had known that Lee was in Rouen; he was dreadfully upset
over Mrs. Braytree's telling him that she saw Lee in Havre. He was very
unreasonable, and laid it up against Lee that Mrs. Braytree saw him.
Just as if Lee could help it.
We had a pretty good time coming down, only Mr. Edgar came up and came
down with us, and of course Uncle did not like that. I think that Mr.
Edgar came up to come down with me because we had a lovely time on the
steamer coming over together, but Uncle hardly gave me a chance to speak
to him. Uncle seems just instinctively to know whom Edna and I want to
talk to, and then won't let us. But of course I'm not complaining, for
it was lovely of him to give us this trip, and we're enjoying every
minute.
We arrived last night, and the only drawback is that Mrs. Clary isn't
here. She left a note, and M. Sibilet's wife _is_ his mother, and has a
place out at Neuilly, and they were invited there for three days. She
will be back to-morrow, and she left word for us to go straight to the
Bon Marche and look at the white suits; so we did so. We told Uncle it
was all right for us to go alone, and he had just gotten his mail, so he
only said "Hum!" and we went. Just as we were taking the cab, who should
we see but Mr. Chopstone. It was so lovely to see him again, and he got
into the cab and went with us. We went to the Bon Marche, but it wasn't
much fun with a man, so we came out after a little, and he proposed
taking the Subway and going to the Trocadero. Just then we met a man
that Mr. Chopstone knew, and he had red hair and eye-glasses. Mr.
Chopstone introduced him, and invited him to go along; but he said it
was no use, because it was the wrong day and we couldn't get in when we
got there. By this time we were down in the Subway, and Mr. Chopstone
suggested that we go to the Bois, so as not to have to go back up the
stairs again. While we were talking, the train came and went in a
terrible hurry, and we got aboard in between. After we were off, we
found that Mr. Chopstone wasn't on. We didn't know what to do, because,
of course, it was he that we knew, and not the red-haired man. The
red-haired man said he would do whatever we pleased, and Edna thought we
had better get right off; but I thought we ought to go right on. We
didn't know _what_ to do, and so we kept on to the Bois.
The Bois was just lovely--all automobiles and babies; and who do you
think we met? Betty Burleigh. We were so surprised, for I thought she
was in California for her lungs; but it seems that she's been in Dresden
for her music all winter, and now she's here for her clothes. She was
with an elderly French lady, and I don't think that the elderly French
lady liked to have her stop and talk to us. I thought at first that
perhaps it wasn't proper on account of the red-haired man, but in a
second I saw the real reason. Betty glanced around and said, "Oh,
Madame, ou est Fakir?" Whereupon the elderly French lady looked
absolutely terrified and tore madly off. We had quite a long talk
before she came back with the most awful little black dog, which they
evidently had _no_ string to. She put him down and began to look
displeased again, and Betty just glanced about and said calmly, "Oh,
Madame, ou es Fakir?" He had absolutely vanished again, and the elderly
French lady sort of threw up her eyes and rushed wildly away. The
red-haired man said, "Why don't you buy a chain for him?" Betty shrugged
the Frenchiest kind of a shrug and said, "I don't have to chase him."
The red-haired man said, "I should think she would buy the chain then!"
and Betty shrugged a much Frenchier shrug, and said: "I wouldn't allow
it. While she is running after him I can do as I please." The
red-haired man laughed. Poor madame came panting up with the creature
just then, and Betty said sweetly, "Laissez-lui courir," so she had to
put him down; but I could see that she meant to keep a sharp eye on him.
Betty wanted us all to come to the Palais and lunch with her; but of
course we refused, because you wouldn't have liked it, and, anyway, we
had to go back to Uncle. She wanted the red-haired man to stay, anyhow,
and was quite put out when he declined. Just then two men in an
automobile came up and asked her to go and see the balloon ascension.
They didn't invite the elderly French lady, and she protested about
"comme il faut"--but Betty said, "Ou est Fakir?" and, if you'll believe
me, that little beast was gone again, and poor madame dashed off in
pursuit. Betty made short work of bidding us good-by then, and at once
got into the automobile, and was off.
[Illustration: We found our beloved relative]
We came slowly along back with the red-haired man, and at the Arc de
Triomphe we ran into Mr. Chopstone. It seems he went a station too far
because he met some people he knew in the car behind us, and he says we
must all go to the Chatelet with him to-night to make up. He said
"Uncle, too," so we accepted. Then we took a cab and came back to the
hotel, where we found our beloved relative with his feet on the
center-table, reading the Paris "Herald." He looked over the top at us
and announced that he'd "done the Louvre." I think we must have looked
startled, for he went on to say at once that he knew that it was
something that had got to be done, and that he shouldn't enjoy, and so
he had thought it best to go at it the first thing on the first morning
and get it off his mind at once. He was very pleased with himself,
because he says the "Baedeker" says that it takes two hours and a half
to walk through, and he was only gone from the hotel two hours in all.
Edna asked him if he spent much time looking at the pictures, and he
said: "Young lady, if you'd ever been in the place, you'd never ask that
question. Why, the whole thing is lined with pictures. I bet I dream of
gilt frames for a week."
[Illustration: We found our beloved relative]
We had to go to lunch, and Uncle doesn't like the food very much; he
says it strikes him as "flummery," and he is really very much vexed over
Mrs. Clary's being at Neuilly. Edna is vexed because Harry is there,
too, and I'm very much vexed indeed because she thoughtlessly gave Uncle
the letter at lunch, and when he read about Monsieur Sibilet's wife
being his mother he was more put out than ever. He said we could look
out for ourselves this afternoon, as he had to go to the bank. Edna
suggested that we go to the Louvre, and he said yes, that would be wise,
because then we would all be free to enjoy ourselves. Uncle speaks of
the Louvre exactly as if it were the semiannual siege at the dentist's.
But he was kind enough to offer to leave us there on his way to the
bank, and when we took the cab, he arranged with the cabman and the
hotel-porter exactly what the fare was to be, and held it in his hand
the whole way.
Edna and I were mighty glad to get to the Louvre without Uncle,
especially with the way he feels to-day, and we were wandering along in
a speechless sort of ecstacy when all of a sudden I heard some one
calling my name. I whirled around, and if it wasn't Mrs. Merrilegs, in a
state of collapse on one of the red-velvet benches. We went to her, and
she took hold of our hands as if she'd been our long-lost mother for
years. She looked very white and tired and almost ready to faint, and we
sat down on each side of her in real sincere sympathy, and she held our
hands and told us how it was. It seems that they left home the last of
last month, and they've been all through the British Isles, Denmark,
Holland, and Belgium, and they are going to finish Europe and be home
the first of next month. She could hardly speak for tears. She says Mr.
Merrilegs made out the itinerary before they sailed and that they have
lived up to it every day except just one, when he ate some lobster
crossing the Irish Sea, and they lost a day that night. She says they
drive a great deal, because they can hardly walk any more, and that she
doesn't believe that there will be a museum or palace in Europe that
they won't be able to say that they have driven by when they go home.
She said they had come to the Louvre to see what pictures they wanted
for their new house, and that they never meant to take more than twenty
minutes for the selection, and that they had been there an hour already.
She felt badly because the itinerary had them visit Notre Dame, the
Eiffel Tower as high as the elevator goes, and Versailles this
afternoon. She said they wanted to try and call on the American consul,
too, to ask about a masseur. She said Mr. Merrilegs said he thought if
they could get hold of a good masseur and keep him right with them that
they could manage to rub through to the end.
[Illustration: "She took hold of our hands as if she'd been our
long-lost mother for years"]
Edna and I felt dreadfully sorry for her; but there did not seem to be
anything to do except look sad, and we did that as heartily as we knew
how until in a minute or two Mr. Merrilegs hove in sight with a funny
little Frenchman dancing round and round him. Mr. Merrilegs looked
almost as exhausted as his wife, and called Edna by my name and me by
hers. His wife asked him if he had ordered the pictures, and he said:
"No; I haven't any more time to waste here. I've given Claretie the
paper with the sizes of the spaces marked on it, and he's to go through
and measure till he finds a famous picture to match each space." Mrs.
Merrilegs sort of nodded faintly and said: "But we don't want any
martyrs in the dining-room, you know," and her husband said, "Yes, yes,
he understands; and he says he'll find a Susanna to fit your bath, too."
Mrs. Merrilegs stood up then with a very audible groan, and they both
shook hands with us in a way that quite wrung our hearts. Then they
limped away with the little Frenchman spinning gaily about them, and we
went on alone.
In the very next room we met Mr. Chopstone. He was awfully glad to see
us, and said, with our permission, he'd join us; but as he seemed joined
anyway, we didn't even dream of refusing. He asked if we'd told Uncle
about the Chatelet, and then we remembered that we had forgotten. He
said he was so glad, because he couldn't get any seats except
_baignoirs_, and they looked queer, because no one can see you. He asked
if we would like to go to the opera instead, and we were just discussing
it when we turned a corner and ran right on to Betty Burleigh and the
red-haired man. His name is Potter, and, did you ever! They looked so
upset that it can't have been an accident, their being together. But how
could they have arranged it? If they didn't arrange it, why did they
look upset? Betty had on a bright green cloth dress and a violet hat,
and the red-haired man heightened the general effect so much that we
moved on as quickly as possible. Mr. Chopstone said very roundly: "You'd
better fight shy of her, I think," and Edna said dryly: "Of him, too,
don't you think?" I waited a minute, and then I said it seemed droll to
think that if we were all English we'd be pleased to call poor Betty a
typical American.
We came home when the Louvre closed and found Uncle back with his feet
on the center-table. He had had a big fire built, for he said it gave
him chills to look at the nymph over his bed. He had put in a true
Merrilegian afternoon, having been to the Palais de Justice,
Sainte-Chapelle, Notre Dame, and driven by the Hotel de Ville and around
the Opera House--"completely around." He says there won't be a thing
left for him to look at by Monday. He says if he was pressed for time
he'd hire a cab for one whole day and lump the business; but that,
seeing that we have the time, it really doesn't seem necessary.