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Page 25
We were fascinated with the coaches of state and much impressed with the
cost of them. As momma said, it took so very _little_ imagination to
conjure up a Royal Philip inside bowing to the populace.
"What a pity we couldn't have had them over!" said poppa indiscreetly.
"Where you mean?" demanded the guide, "over to America? I know--for that
ole Chicago show! You are the five hundred American who has said that to
me this summer! Number five hundred! Nossir, we don't lend those
carriage. We don't even drive them ourself."
"No more kings and queens nowadays," remarked Mr. Hinkson, "this
century's got no use for them."
I think the guide was a Monarchist. "Nossir," he said, "you don't see no
more kings an' queens of France, but you do see a good many people
travellin' that's nothin' like so good for trade."
At which Mr. Pabbley's eye sought that of the guide, and expressed its
appreciation in a marked and joyous wink.
In the Palace, especially in the picture rooms, there were generally
benches along the walls. When momma observed this she arranged that she
should go on ahead and sit down and get the impression, while poppa and
I caught up from time to time with the guide and the information. The
guide was quite agreeable about it, when it was explained to him.
He was either a very thoughtless or a very insincere person, however.
Stopping before the portrait of an officer in uniform, he drew us all
together. The Canadians, headed by Mr. Pabbley, were well to the fore,
and it was to them in particular that he appeared to address himself
when he said, "Take a good look at this picture, ladies and genelmen.
There is a man wat lives in your 'istory an', if I may say, in your
'art--as he does in ours. There's a man, ladies and genelmen, that
helped you on to liberty. Take a good look at 'im, you'll be glad to
remember it afterward."
And it was General Lafayette!
CHAPTER VII.
It was after dinner and we were sitting in the little courtyard of the
hotel in the dark without our hats--that is, momma and I; the Senator
was seldom altogether without his hat. I think he would have felt it to
be a little indecent. The courtyard was paved, and there were flowers on
the stand in the middle of it, natural palms and artificial begonias
mixed with the most annoying cleverness, and little tables for coffee
cups or glasses were scattered about. Outside beyond the hotel vestibule
one could see and hear Paris rolling by in the gaslight. It was the only
place in the hotel that did not smell of furniture, so we frequented it.
So did Mr. Malt and Mrs. Malt, and Emmeline Malt, and Miss Callis. That
was chiefly how we made the acquaintance of the Malt party. You can't
very well sit out in the dark in a foreign capital with a family from
your own State and not get to know them. Besides poppa never could
overcome his feeling of indebtedness to Mr. Malt. They were taking
Emmeline abroad for her health. She was the popular thirteen-year-old
only child of American families, and she certainly was thin. I remember
being pleased, sometimes, considering her in her typical capacity, that
I once had a little brother, though he died before I was born.
The two gentlemen were smoking; we could see nothing but the ends of
their cigars glowing in their immediate vicinity. Momma was saying that
the situation was very romantic, and Mr. Malt had assured her that it
was nothing to what we would experience in Italy. "That's where you
_get_ romance," said Mr. Malt, and his cigar end dropped like a falling
star as he removed the ash. "Italy's been romantic ever since B.C. All
through the time the rest of the world was inventing Magna Chartas and
Doomsday Books, and Parliaments, and printing presses, and steam
engines, Italy's gone right on turning out romance. Result is, a better
quality of that article to be had in Italy to-day than anywhere else.
Further result, twenty million pounds spent there annually by tourists
from all parts of the civilised world. Romance, like anything else, can
be made to pay."
"Are we likely to find the beds----" began Mrs. Malt plaintively.
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