The clockwork wheezed and whirred.
"'Tis going to part us," shouted Tricotrin; "laugh, laugh, Beloved, so
that we may not hear!"
"Kiss me," she cried; "while the hour sounds, you shall hold me in your
arms!"
"Heaven," gasped the young man, as the too brief embrace concluded,
"how I wish it had been striking midnight!"
The next moment came the separation. He descended the stairs; at the
window she waved her hand to him. And in the darkness of an "English
hansom" the poet covered his face and wept.
* * * * *
"From our hearts we rejoice to have thee safely back!" they chorused in
Montmartre. "And what didst thou see in London?"
"Oh, mon Dieu, what noble sights!" exclaimed Tricotrin. "The Lor' Maire
blazes with jewels like the Shah of Persia; and compared with
Peeccadeelly, the Champs Elysees are no wider than a hatband. Vive
l'Entente! Positively my brain whirls with all the splendours of London
I have seen!"
THE INFIDELITY OF MONSIEUR NOULENS
Whenever they talk of him, whom I will call "Noulens"--of his novels,
his method, the eccentricities of his talent--someone is sure to say,
"But what comrades, he and his wife!"--you are certain to hear it. And
as often as I hear it myself, I think of what he told me that evening
--I remember the shock I had.
At the beginning, I had expected little. When I went in, his wife said,
"I fear he will be poor company; he has to write a short story for
_La Voix,_ and cannot find a theme--he has been beating his brains
all day.
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