I had the top of ours, so had Gaston of theirs, and ever so many times he tapped on the division. I do hope the other people thought it was a mouse; but when he began to give terrible sighs, and at last exclaimed, "Sapristi!" they must have wondered what was the matter. He was so dreadfully tiresome and restless, the poor secretary could not get a wink of sleep, he told me to-day; and at last fearing he was ill he climbed up and offered him some brandy. He must be a very good man, the secretary said, because he found him kneeling with his forehead pressed against the division which separated him from me, evidently saying his prayers. Aren't the French odd? And when I asked him next day how he had slept he looked at me with eyes of the deepest reproach and said I had taken care he could not sleep; just as though it was I who was troublesome and snored! Wasn't it crazy of him, Mamma? And since he has devoted himself entirely to Mercédès, and I am perfectly thankful, as very soon at the first mining town we are expecting Mr. Renour!
We have two tables of four for meals, and whichever two have been naughty we put at a little one by themselves; and it is generally Tom and Columbia. They are getting on splendidly, and Octavia is so pleased, as she was afraid Tom might grow bored and give up the trip and go straight on to Mexico: Englishman can't stay long without killing things, can they, Mamma, and they never think about their wives' pleasure, as the Americans do. The dear Senator divides himself between Octavia and me, and when she has the secretary she gets him to give her information about the country, and we are all as happy as possible. Mr. Renour is bringing a friend with him, so that will make twelve. The coast is pretty, but I can't describe scenery, especially as all of this has been done dozens of times before, and also, though it is beautiful, it is rather of a sameness; and half the time, having been so long in the train we did not look out, there are such a number of amusing things to do in a party like this.
Lola's husband is a poor creature; how she adores him as she does is a mystery; he simply "don't amount to anything;" only he is beautifully dressed, like an Englishman, and has as nice socks as Harry. The Senator, without asking me any questions, has soothed me so that I am not feeling as cross as I was, though I am determined not to go near Harry again for months and months. When we get back, if he is still in Africa with that creature, I shall take the children for a voyage round the world. He shall see he can't behave like a brute to me with impunity. But yesterday morning when that silly little Vinerhorn wore a shirt of Charvet's of exactly the same silk as I chose Harry last in Paris, a nasty feeling came in my throat, and I seemed to see his blue eyes flashing angry flames at me like when we said good-bye.
Just think, Mamma, all these years since I have been married I have never so much as looked at anyone else. He has kept me knowing hardly anything more of the world than I did then. But I am not going to stay stupid I can assure you! If he can go off to Africa with Mrs. Smith, why can't I play with Mr. Renour?
(I am tired of Gaston, really.)
The second night in the train was quite peaceful. We went to bed before they came in from smoking, and Octavia had the top berth and heard nothing, so I suppose the Vicomte said his prayers with his forehead glued against the other side. And when we arrived at Los Angeles there was the private car. It is so comfortable. The salon at the end has an observation veranda on it, and at night three berths let down in it for three of the men, and in the dining-room three others can sleep. The Senator has a tiny place to himself. The Vinerhorns, who never will be separated, have one cabin, and Tom and Octavia the other. Octavia says she likes experiences, and she had no idea Tom could be so handy, for Wilbor and Agnès and all the valets have been sent on to the Osages City in an ordinary train and he had to dress her. I am in the larger compartment with the two girls, and we have only one enormous bed for the three of us! And it does seem quaint, Mamma, sleeping with women. I felt quite shy at first; then we laughed so we could not get to sleep. They are perfect angels and do everything for me, and make me so vain admiring my hair being so long and curly. Columbia brushed it for half an hour last night, and we were just in the middle of it when we pulled up at a small station, on the beginning of the mining world, and to our surprise Mr. Renour and his friend got in. We heard the noise and the greetings and all peeped out to see, and the Senator, sans gêne, brought them down the passage to say how do you do.
Mr. Renour does look a pet! He was (and still is to-day) in miner's dress, and it is corduroy trousers tucked into high-laced boots and a grey flannel shirt with a shallow turn down collar which has been turned up again, looking like a Lord Palmerton, or someone of that date; a loose tie and a corduroy Norfolk jacket, all a sort of earth colour except the tie, which is blue. The friend is the same, and they both have queer American-looking sort of sombrero greenish felt hats, and the friend hasn't even a tie.
We were glad to see them, at least I was. We were all in dressing-gowns, with our hair down, and the girls pretended to hide behind me and be coy, and we played the fool just like children. It was fun, Mamma, and think of the faces of Harry's two aunts, the Duchess and Lady Archibald, if they could have seen me being so undignified. But here no one has any nasty thoughts, they are all happy and natural and innocent as kittens, and I am enjoying myself.
Gaston is frightfully jealous of the newcomers, but he is too much of a polished gentleman to be disagreeable over it; it is only the English who have remained savages in that respect, showing their tempers as plainly as a child would do. If you remember, Harry had a thunderous face before we were married, whenever I teased him, and since, my heavens! If people even look a good deal in a restaurant he is annoyed. But I don't mind so much, because my time has always been taken up with him making love to me himself. It is the cold ones who are jealous just from vanity that are insupportable, as it is not that they love the woman so much themselves as because they think it is "dam cheek" (forgive me, Mamma) for any other man to dare to look at their belongings? Now American men don't seem jealous at all; they are so kind they are thinking of the woman's pleasure, not their own. Really, I am sure in the long run they must be far nicer to live with—not a tenth part as vain as Englishmen.
The most jolly looking, jet-black old nigger in white duck livery brought us our coffee in the morning. His face is a full moon of laughter. No one could feel gloomy if he were near, and his voice, like a little child's, is as sweet as a bird, and such delightful phrasing. He has been with the Senator for fifteen years and couldn't live "way from de car." His name is Marcus Aurelius, and I am sure he is just as great a philosopher as the Emperor was.