“Do what you like,” I answered savagely. “But don’t let me see the beastly things again. And don’t,” I added thoughtfully, “send them twice to the same place.”
So what is happening I know not, though the expense for stamps is a grievous one. She has a list of periodicals and is posting the things somewhere. Perhaps she may blunder luckily. Anyway, I don’t care. I’m sick of them.
May 30th.
Some days ago I was sitting by the gate of the Luxembourg that fronts the bust of St. Beuve. That fine, shrewd face seemed to smile at me with pawky kindliness, as if to say: “Don’t despair, young men; seek, seek, for the luminous idea will come.”
But just then it was more pleasant to dream than to seek. A slim pine threw on the sun-flooded lawn its purple pool of shadow; in the warm breeze a thickset yew heaved gently; a lively acacia twinkled and fluttered; a silver-stemmed birch tossed enthusiastic plumes. Over a bank of golden lilies bright-winged butterflies were hovering, and in a glade beyond there was a patch of creamy hyacinths. Against the ivy that mantled an old oak, the white dress of a girl out-gleamed, and her hat, scarlet as a geranium, made a sparkling note of colour.
Then, as she drew near I saw it was Anastasia, and she was much excited. I wondered why. Is there anything in this world, I asked myself, worth while getting excited about? Just then I was inclined to think not; so I smoked on imperturbably. The vacuum in my life made by the lack of tobacco had been more than I could bear, and I had taken to those cheap packets of Caporal, cigarettes bleues, whose luxuriant whiskers I surreptitiously trimmed with Anastasia’s embroidery scissors. Never shall I be one of those kill-joys who recommend young men not to smoke—in the meantime filling up their own pipes with particular gusto.
“Hullo, Little Thing! Why this unexpected pleasure?”
“Oh, I search you everywhere. See! There’s letter from editor.”
“So it is; and judging by your excitement it must contain at least twenty pounds. Already I wallow in the sands of Pactolus.... Yes, you’re right: A cheque. How long it seems since I’ve seen a cheque! Let’s see—why! it’s for a whole guinea.”
Her eyes gleamed with pleasure, and she clapped her hands.