Tales of Two Countries | Page 8

But in what you say of my
flowers and my dancing your penetration has led you to a great
discovery. I will tell you the secret of the fresh morning dew which lies
on the flowers. It is the tears, Monsieur le Comte, which envy and
shame, disappointment and remorse, have wept over them. And if you
seem to feel the floor swaying as we dance, that is because it trembles
under the hatred of millions."
She had spoken with her customary repose, and with a friendly bow she
disappeared into the salon.
***
The Count remained rooted to the spot. He cast a glance over the crowd
outside. It was a right he had often seen, and he had made sundry snore
or less trivial witticisms about the "many-headed monster." But
to-night it struck him for the first time that this monster was, after all,
the most unpleasant neighbor for a palace one could possibly imagine.
Strange and disturbing thoughts whirled in the brain of Monsieur le
Comte, where they found plenty of space to gyrate. He was entirely
thrown off his balance, and it was not till after the next polka that his

placidity returned.

THE PARSONAGE.
It seemed as though the spring would never come. All through April
the north wind blew and the nights were frosty. In the middle of the day
the sun shone so warmly that a few big flies began to buzz around, and
the lark proclaimed, on its word of honor, that it was the height of
summer.
But the lark is the most untrustworthy creature under heaven. However
much it might freeze at night, the frost was forgotten at the first
sunbeam; and the lark soared, singing, high over the heath, until it
bethought itself that it was hungry.
Then it sank slowly down in wide circles, singing, and beating time to
its song with the flickering of its wings. But a little way from the earth
it folded its wings and dropped like a stone down into the heather.
The lapwing tripped with short steps among the hillocks, and nodded
its head discreetly. It had no great faith in the lark, and repeated its
wary "Bi litt! Bi litt!" [Note: "Wait a bit! Wait a bit!" Pronounced _Bee
leet_] A couple of mallards lay snuggling in a marsh-hole, and the elder
one was of opinion that spring would not come until we had rain.
Far on into May the meadows were still yellow; only here and there on
the sunny leas was there any appearance of green. But if you lay down
upon the earth you could see a multitude of little shoots-- some thick,
others as thin as green darning-needles--which thrust their heads
cautiously up through the mould. But the north wind swept so coldly
over them that they turned yellow at the tips, and looked as if they
would like to creep back again.
But that they could not do; so they stood still and waited, only
sprouting ever so little in the midday sun.
The mallard was right; it was rain they wanted. And at last it
came--cold in the beginning, but gradually warmer; and when it was
over the sun came out in earnest. And now you would scarcely have
known it again; it shone warmly, right from the early morning till the
late evening, so that the nights were mild and moist.
Then an immense activity set in; everything was behindhand, and had
to make up for lost time. The petals burst from the full buds with a little
crack, and all the big and little shoots made a sudden rush. They darted

out stalks, now to the one side, now to the other, as quickly as though
they lay kicking with green legs. The meadows were spangled with
flowers and weeds, and the heather slopes towards the sea began to
light up.
Only the yellow sand along the shore remained as it was; it has no
flowers to deck itself with, and lyme-grass is all its finery. Therefore it
piles itself up into great mounds, seen far and wide along the shore, on
which the long soft stems sway like a green banner.
There the sand-pipers ran about so fast that their legs looked like a
piece of a tooth comb. The sea-gulls walked on the beach, where the
waves could sweep over their legs. They held themselves sedately, their
heads depressed and their crops protruded, like old ladies in muddy
weather.
The sea-pie stood with his heels together, in his tight trousers, his black
swallow-tail, and his white waistcoat.
"Til By'n! Til By'n!" he cried [Note: "To Town! To Town!"], and at
each cry ho made a quick little bow, so that his coat tails whisked up
behind him.
Up in the heather the