Upstairs a candle shone through the window of Miss
Falconer's room. In the kitchen by the great chimney place I could see a
leather-clad chauffeur eating, the same fellow that had driven the blue
car from the rue St.-Dominique; and while I watched, madame emerged,
bearing the girl's dinner tray, which with much groaning and panting she
carried up the winding stairs.
It was foolish of Miss Falconer, I thought, to insist on this comedy.
She might better have dined with me, heard what I had to say, and
yielded with a good grace. However, let her have her dinner in peace
and solitude, I resolved magnanimously. The moon had come out, the stars
too; I would take a stroll and mature my plans.
Lighting a cigarette, I lounged into the street and addressed myself
forthwith to an unhurried tour of Bleau. I was gone perhaps an hour, not
a very lengthy interval, but one in which a variety of things can occur,
as I was to learn. My walk led me outside the village, down a water path
between trees, and even to the famous mill, which was charming. Had I
been of the fraternity of artists, as I had claimed, I should have
asked no better fate than to come there with canvas and brushes and
immortalize the quiet beauty of the scene.
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