No verefore stopp’st zou me?’”
Honor saw nothing funny in it; French-English was as natural to her as the Anglo-Saxon variety; she thrilled with Soeur Séraphine, her romantic little soul went forth with the Mariner over the perilous seas; for her as for him, the fair wind blew, the white foam flew, the furrow followed free.
“Ve vare ze foorst zat evare boorst—”
shrilled Soeur Séraphine— “If necessary, Patricia, go, my child!”
For Patricia had flung up an imploring hand and burst into a fit of coughing; she now scuttled (her own word, not mine!) from the room, and gaining the shelter of her own, flung herself on the bed in paroxysms of laughter.
Honor did not stir; she was hardly conscious of the interruption. The “silent sea” absorbed her, soul and body.
The “Choix de Poésies Anglaises” contained two other poems by Coleridge, “Kubla Khan” and the “Hymn at Sunrise in the Valley of Chamounix.” Honor already knew the former by heart; she was learning the latter, and had permission to study in the garden. Sitting on the bench under the great pear-tree, she murmured the opening lines over and over, all unconsciously following the familiar pronunciation.
“Hast zou a sharm to stay ze morningstar
In his stipp courrse?”
She lifted her eyes.