Part 3 (1/2)

But what had ”Charlie” to do with Miss Brooke? he asked himself a thousand times that evening.

CHAPTER IV.

A MONTH later--about the beginning of June--Paul had entered the ecole des Beaux Arts as a student of architecture. Not to have succeeded in tearing himself away would have been to lose all self-respect. He had determined to justify himself to himself, to prove he had a will he need not be ashamed of. Thus it was that his astonished mother and a favourite uncle--Celia's guardian--who both had a good deal to say about Paris and its temptations, expended their speech to no purpose.

Paul entered into his student life with zest, working hard and conscientiously in a very methodical fas.h.i.+on. He allowed himself, however, plenty of time for enjoying the city; going to the theatres, and peeping into all the show places, and hunting up curios at old shops, and lounging and playing billiards at the cafes, and drinking beer _al fresco_ on the boulevards. Occasionally he rode in the Bois, or made excursions up and down the Seine, and into the neighbouring country--mostly, of course, in company, for he soon struck acquaintance with some of the men, many of whom he found had to manage on very little money. So he said nothing about his own easy circ.u.mstances, rather enjoying the two-franc seat at the theatre and the fifteen-centime ride on the tops of tramcars. When he wanted expensive amus.e.m.e.nt he went alone.

No one he knew had so far mentioned Miss Brooke's name, and though he was often on the point of asking one or other of his new friends about her, some instinct invariably restrained him. He had nurtured his love for her, all his solitary thought turning to her, and it seemed a sort of sacrilege to make even the most innocent inquiry about her in her absence. This waiting for her in silence was part of the romance.

He understood the American girl a little better now, fellow-students having introduced him to girl friends--that is to say, he was better acquainted with her and her ways. And he was satisfied that whatever appeared right to Miss Brooke, no matter how much it violated his own notions, must be right absolutely. With her the fact of riches or poverty was reduced to a mere indifferent background, against which her personality stood out in all its charm and dignity. A girl like her could make her home in one room, and yet make you welcome in it with as much ease and grace as any lady in a fine drawing-room.

Time pa.s.sed, and still n.o.body, by any chance, referred to Miss Brooke.

This was not surprising, for Paris was large, and American girl students were plentiful and scattered all over it. Moreover, a girl who had gone home months before was likely to be soon forgotten. Pemberton he had never met, but he had seen him just once from the top of a tramcar. The hot weather came on and Paul pa.s.sed a delicious month at Montmorency in company with one of the men. After his return he settled to work again, and the months went by almost without his keeping count of them--for, Miss Brooke having mentioned a year as the time she was likely to remain in America, he would not look for her till the spring came on again. In the meanwhile he inflicted much misery on himself by speculating as to whether home and home ties might not have absorbed for good so ideal and affectionate a girl as he conceived her to be, especially after so long a residence abroad. But deep down was implanted in him an unswerving faith in her coming, and, though the manner of their meeting had been left so undefined, he was certain there would be no difficulty when the time came, and that his life after that would be one long fairy tale.

The spring came at last, and with it _vernissage_ at the Salon. Paul knew one or two men who were exhibiting, so he decided to pa.s.s his afternoon at the Palais de l'Industrie. The tens of thousands that thronged the galleries made picture-inspection difficult and tedious; but the crowd itself presented many compensating features of interest.

Paul was hoping, too, he might see Miss Brooke there, as it was not impossible she might by now be back in Paris. Occasionally he fancied a girl resembled Miss Brooke, but when, after infinite striving, he had got close to his quarry, he found the points of likeness were but few.

Once or twice the fair one eluded his pursuit, and got irretrievably swallowed up.

On his going to _dejeuner_ the next day, at a little restaurant close by the school, where he was in the habit of dropping in at mid-day--he dined in the evening in state at a more pretentious establishment--there sat Miss Brooke herself at a table at the end of the room, her face towards the door. None of the usual clients had yet arrived, as it was a trifle early, and _mademoiselle_ was distributing the newly-written menus among the various tables. In any case he must have caught sight of her at once, as the cl.u.s.ter of sharp red and black wings that shot up from one side of the little toque, which just seemed to rest on her hair, drew the eye at once. Her face showed glowing and bright, set above the dark ma.s.s of her stuff dress. As the door swung to she looked up from the menu she had been studying.

”How do you do, Mr. Middleton? You seem real scared to see me.”

Her greeting seemed as calm and laughing as if they had but parted the day before, and Paul felt some vague dissatisfaction with it--he did not quite know why. It seemed, somehow, as if there were no romance between them at all, as if they were the merest acquaintances. Perhaps it was that the pent-up emotion of months of waiting needed more dramatic expression than this commonplace situation afforded.

He asked permission, and sat down opposite her, scarcely knowing what to say to her first.

”Can you tell me whether _cervelle de veau_ is anything good to eat?

It's the only unfamiliar thing on the menu, and my only hope.”

He took the sheet of paper as she held it to him, but found the dish was equally unknown to him. They appealed to _mademoiselle_, who informed them, ”_C'est dans la tete._”

”I wonder if she means 'brains.' I was hoping not to have to translate _cervelle_ literally.”

”I am not afraid of experimenting,” suggested Paul.

”For my benefit. That is real kind of you. Whenever I've been curious about things with strange names, I've always had to order them, which is rather an expensive way of increasing one's French vocabulary.”

When the dish came, neither Paul nor Miss Brooke liked the curly look of it, so they fell back on _bifteck_, salad, cheese, and fruit.

”And so you are here after all,” said Miss Brooke, musingly.

”Why? Did you think I was not serious about coming?”

”I didn't mean that. My expression was a sort of acknowledgment to myself that I had found you--or rather, to be proper, that you had found me.”

His heart fairly leaped with pleasure. She had certainly then thought of him during the past months!