Everybody waited for a moment. “What does she say?” inquired Byram.
“Oh, nothing; she talked nonsense.”
But Jacqueline’s dignity and serene face certainly contradicted Speed’s words.
Presently Byram arose, flourishing his napkin. “Time’s up!” he said, with decision, and we all trooped off to our appointed labors.
Now that I had stirred up this beehive and set it swarming again, I had no inclination to turn drone. Yet I remembered my note to the Countess de Vassart and her reply. So about four o’clock I made the best toilet I could in my only other suit of clothes, and walked out of the bustling camp into the square, where the mossy fountain splashed under the oaks and the children of Paradise were playing. Hands joined, they danced in a ring, singing: 213
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“Barzig ha barzig a Goneri Ari e mab roue gand daou pe dri”— “Little minstrel-bard of Conéri The son of the King has come with two or three— Nay, with a whole bright flock of paroquets, Crimson, silver, and violet.” |
And the children, in their white coiffes and tiny wooden shoes, moved round and round the circle, in the middle of which a little lad and a little lass of Paradise stood motionless, hand clasping hand.
The couplet ended, the two children in the middle sprang forward and dragged a third child out of the circle. Then the song began again, the reduced circle dancing around the three children in the middle.
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“—The son of the King has come with two or three— Nay, with a whole bright flock of paroquets, Crimson, silver, and violet.” |
It was something like a game I had played long ago—in the age of fable—and I lingered, touched with homesickness.