X
They were walking down the magnificent Rue Soufflet, Hamilton immersed in thought, Meadows keeping up the burden of conversation. At the corner of Rue de St. Jacques, Meadows pointed out the bronze tablet of the old Porte St. Jacques and for a moment they paused to decipher it. Between the Parthenon, which glittered from an eminence to the east and Boulevard St. Michel ahead, crowds of students were walking leisurely arm in arm, arguing, gesticulating, singing. Men with beards and boyish faces, voluptuous velvet hats; thin, threadbare coats. There were pale young men, with negligent clothing and an air of being mildly intoxicated. Over the buildings to the north rose the towers of the Sorbonne.
The students formed abackground—a restless current, sparkling, gay, animated, against which moved other figures; girls in gay clothes, coats to their knees, bobbed hair, stopping to flirt; men of affairs hurrying to the boulevard; officers, including a score of foreigners doing the Latin Quartier. Crippled soldiers. On the road the stream of taxis and motor cars.
Meadows’ blue cloak made a daub of color in the picture and Hamilton’s quick eyes noted it. He was thinking how well she fitted into his brief world here. He was wondering how she would fit into life in NewYork—or Corinth. And again he compared her with that other figure. He wished it were Spring.
A man and woman went by, their arms around each other, unmindful of theworld—a man with long hair and a silky beard, meanly dressed, without gloves; a frail blonde with high run-down heels and torn gloves. But their eyes shone. Hamilton envied them.
They crossed the Boulevard St. Michel and entered the Luxembourg Gardens. There were other couples walking about, examining the statuary and sitting on the benches.Some were making love openly; others more subtly. Near a bronze statue of a fawn sat a one-legged soldier and his wife. They were holding hands and looking before them vacantly. A boy of four in a soldier’s suit stood watching them gravely. There were other soldiers, many of them crippled.
Hamilton was acutely conscious of the shortness of the day. A few more hours and it would be over. Then, farewell to Paris and Meadows. He was falling into a sentimental mood. He wondered whether he should tell her of his engagement to Margaret. Probably she had guessed it. At any rate, he decided, there was no occasion for his mentioning it now.
Near the Fontaine de Medicis they found a bench thoughtfully hidden from the walk by shrubbery. They sat down and suddenly looked into each other’s eyes. The sun was falling in a stream across her hair and a coquettish puff of wind was toying with a loosened strand. They were so close now that the end touched his cheek. He leaned over, his heart pounding, while his hand found hers. But she lowered her head, turned it to one side and looked away.
He remained holding her hand and presently she looked up. They went on talking, rapidly, lightly, neither understanding what they were saying, conscious of only one thing, and determined not to acknowledge its presence. To acknowledge it would mean to stifle it.
How had this happened? He had simply meant to say good-bye toDorothy—that is, to Meadows. He owed her much for her kindness in the hospital. That was all. And here he was holding her hand. It was too late to withdraw his hand. He must wait until she took hers away. But probably she was unconscious that they were holding hands. Women sometimes were like that. Or, perhaps, it had no special meaning to her. Other persons were doing it and thinking nothing of it, couples probably even less intimate than they.
“And I suppose you’ll be seeing that girl in Corinth,” Meadows was saying.
“Yes, of course.” Hamilton didn’t know how the talk had drifted to her.
“Does she know you’ve been wounded?”
Hamilton did not wish to talk about Margaret, but he answered, “Yes and no. That is, I wrote her that I had been slightly scratched by a piece of shell. She doesn’t know how serious it’s been. I was afraid it might give her a shock. She’s such a child. It’s really nothing to worry about, although Dr. Levin said I must take things easy, for a time at least.”
“Poor, brave boy,” said Meadows, shaking her head slowly.
“I suppose it’s my contribution to settling the great war. But you’ve given more, infinitely more, for a woman.”
“Oh, only about two years that I might have spent in dancing, attending teas and receptions, playing the societygirl—and I haven’t missed all the receptions, either. It’s all been veryfascinating—and hard. I got into the work before we declaredwar—that is before we declared that a state of war existed.”
“How did you happen to join the Red Cross? You’re not a professional nurse, are you? It must have taken a lot of pluck.”
“I’m almost a graduate, six months from being one. You have to be, you know. But I’m not a professional nurse in the sense that I expect to earn a living at it. You see, I’ve always had a hobby for social service. But when I was studying sociology in college I found that the trouble with the professional sociologists is that they lack technical training. They can make fine reports, but when it comes to showing a mother of six children how to care for a sick child, they fall down. One has to know more, in a practical way, than the manual of home nursing offers.
“I want to be able to go into a home and show a woman how to bathe the babies, how to prepare the bottles, how to make the beds and wash diapers quicker. It’s hardly an aristocratic conception, you see. There are a hundred things like that I’ve learned by nursing.”
“But when did you have time for all this?” Hamilton looked puzzled. “Two and a half years in training, two years over here, and a college course. You look like a college junior.”
Meadows blushed. “I’m older than you think, perhaps. But I used to be something of a child prodigy. I was fifteen when I graduated from high school and I did college in three years. So, you see, I’m not hopelessly old yet.”
“And when you get back?”
“Oh, there’s so much to do. Father and mother were shocked when I took up nursing and again when I left for France. But I think they’ve become reconciled. You see they expected me to fit smoothly into their little social scheme.”
Meadows sketched her career with illuminating, humorous sidelights.
Her first revolt had come when she insisted on entering the University of Wisconsin instead of an Eastern girls’ college and had elected to major in sociology, with economics as her minor. Shock two came when she turned down the bid of theKappas—at that particular time the most desirablesorority—and denounced fraternities and sororities for their snobbishness before her “lit” society. Then she had joined the students’ Socialist society, taken part in organizing a daily newspaper that would be free from faculty control, and joined the staff of a monthly magazine, started in opposition to the Literary Magazine, for the purpose of supporting free verse, modernist literature and art and, principally, of poking fun at the conservatism of the professors.
“Of course, I’ve gotten over most of my enthusiasms,” she laughed. “It was simply a stage in my growth. But I’m still pretty radical, I guess, for mypeople—and for you. I’m not even a Socialist now, although at one time I was on the verge of anarchism and used to hear Emma Goldman every time she came to Madison. But, at least, I am a liberal.”
She suddenly broke off.
“But, of course, this doesn’t interest you. You’re probably wondering whether I’ve spoiled my complexion by going in for all these things instead of taking vocal lessonsand—I was going to sayFrench—but I’ve learned French at that. I’ll bet you’re wondering right now more how I managed to get through school so young without wearing glasses and looking like a freak.”
Hamilton started. It was exactly what he had been thinking.
He had been watching her lips and eyes as much as attending to her words. It was a dangerous game, he knew, but he was being carried along by a tide stronger than he could stem. Suddenly a bell tinkled, announcing the closing of the gates. It was growing dusk. Hamilton bent down and kissed her. She lifted her arms and raised her lips to his, and for as long as one can hold one’s breath they remained thus.
Arm in arm, they retraced their steps through the gardens of the Luxembourg. Other couples were walking similarly, singing, laughing. Through the gathering gray, lights were twinkling on the boulevard. They walked in silence. There were tears on her lashes.