Cars seating eight; clean, soft-cushioned, _nice_.
The face of the country, though not striking, was pleasing.
There were
many poplars, with their silvery shafts, and a mingling of trees of
various kinds. The foliage has an airy grace - a certain
_spirituelle_ expression - as if the trees knew they were growing
in _la belle France_, and must be refined. Then the air is so
different from the fog and smoke of London. There is more oxygen in
the atmosphere. A pall is lifted. We are led out into sunshine. Fields
are red with a scarlet white-edged poppy, or blue with a flower like
larkspur. Wheat fields half covered with this unthrifty beauty! But
alas! the elasticity is in Nature's works only. The works of man
breathe over us a dismal, sepulchral, stand-still feeling. The
villages have the nightmare, and men wear wooden shoes. The day's
ride, however, was memorable with novelty; and when we saw Mont
Martre, and its moth-like windmills, telling us we were coming to
Paris, it was almost with regret at the swiftness of the hours. We
left the cars, and flowed with the tide into the Salle d'Attente, to
wait till the baggage was sorted. Then came the famous ceremony of
unlocking. The officer took my carpet bag first, and poked his hand
down deep in one end.
"What is this?"
"That is my collar box."
"_Ah, ca_" And he put it back hastily, and felt of my travelling
gown.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 152 of 455
Words from 40444 to 40694
of 120793
