"It is material for my biography," he soliloquised, as he crept down
the gangway. "Few who saw the young man step firmly on to the good
ship's deck conjectured the emotions that tore his heart; few
recognised him to be Tricotrin, whose work was at that date practically
unknown.'" But as a matter of fact he did arouse conjectures of a kind,
for when the boat moved from the quay, he could not resist the
opportunity to murmur, "My France, farewell!" with an appropriate
gesture.
His repose during the night was fitful, and when Victoria was reached
at last, he was conscious of some bodily fatigue. However, his mind was
never slow to receive impressions, and at the sight of the scaffolding,
he whipped out his note-book on the platform. He wrote, "The English
are extraordinarily prompt of action. One day it was discerned that la
gare Victoria was capable of improvement--no sooner was the fact
detected than an army of contractors was feverishly enlarging it."
Pleased that his journey was already yielding such good results, the
poet lit a Caporal, and sauntered through the yard.
Though the sky promised a fine Sunday, his view of London at this early
hour was not inspiriting. He loitered blankly, debating which way to
wander. Presently the outlook brightened--he observed a very dainty
pair of shoes and ankles coming through the station doors. Fearing that
the face might be unworthy of them, he did not venture to raise his
gaze until the girl had nearly reached the gate, but when he took the
risk, he was rewarded by the discovery that her features were as
piquant as her feet.
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