Mary by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson (little red riding hood ebook TXT) 📖

she gave in and promised.

Whatever the reason, her attempt was a failure.

"If I asked my father to receive a young man who has not been introduced to him, he would misunderstand me," said Mary. Alice admitted this at once. She was angry with herself for not having thought of it. Instead of consulting with Mary as to whether the thing might not be managed in another way, she gave up the project altogether. She was still annoyed when she communicated the result to Frans Roey; she had the feeling, she said, that Mary objected to the interference of any third person. She impressed on him again that he must be careful. Frans was miserable. Alice made no attempt to comfort him.

He came back next day. "I cannot give it up," said he. "And I cannot think of anything else."

So long did he sit there, so often did he repeat exactly the same thing in different words, and so unhappy was he, that good-natured Alice became sorry for him.

"Listen!" she said. "I'll invite you and the Krogs here together. Then perhaps the invitation to their house will come of itself."

He jumped up. "That is a splendid idea! Please do, dear Alice!"

"I can't do it immediately. Mr. Krog is ill. We must wait."

He stood looking at her, much disappointed. "But can you not arrange a meeting between us two again?"

"Yes, that I might do."

"Do it then--as soon as possible! dear, dear Alice--as soon as possible!"

This time Alice was successful. Mary was quite ready to meet him again.

They met at Alice's house, to drive together to the exhibition in the Champs Elysees.

To stand together before works of art is the real conversation without words. The few words that are spoken awake hundreds. But these remain unspoken. The one friend feels through the other, or at least they both believe that they do so. They meet in one picture, to separate in another. An hour thus spent teaches them more of each other than weeks of ordinary intercourse. Alice led the two from picture to picture, but was absorbed in her own thoughts--the more completely the farther they went. She saw as an artist sees. The others, who began with the pictures, gradually passed on to discovery of each other through these. With them it was soon a play of undertones, rapid glances, short ejaculations, pointing fingers. But those who feel their way to each other by secret paths enjoy the process exceedingly, and generally allow it to be perceived that they do so. They play a game like that of a pair of sea-birds that dive and come up again far away from each other--to find their way back to each other. The happiness of the moment was increased by the number of eyes which were turned on them.

Downstairs amongst the statuary, Alice led them straight to the centre room. She stopped in front of an empty pedestal and turned to the official in charge. "Is the acrobat not ready yet?" "No, Mademoiselle," he answered; "unfortunately not."

"There must have been another accident?"

"I do not know, Mademoiselle."

Alice explained to Mary that the statue of an acrobat had been broken in the process of setting it up.

"An acrobat?" called Frans Roey. He was standing a short way off; now he hastened up to them. "An acrobat? Did I hear you speaking about an acrobat?"

"Yes," said they, and laughed.

"Is that anything to laugh at?" said he. "I have a cousin who is an acrobat."

The ladies laughed more heartily. Frans was greatly astonished.

"I assure you he is one of the best fellows I know. And marvellously clever. The talent runs in our family. As a boy I was two whole summers in the circus with him."

The others laughed.

"What the deuce can you be laughing at? I never had a better time in my life than in the circus."

The two ladies, unable to control their merriment, hurried towards the door. Roey was obliged to follow, but was offended.

"I have not the faintest idea what is amusing you," he said, when they were all seated in the carriage. Nevertheless he laughed himself.

The little misunderstanding resulted in all three being in the best of humours when they stopped in front of Mary's house. Alice and Frans Roey drove on without her. Frans turned blissfully to Alice and asked if he had not been a good boy to-day? if he had not kept himself well in hand? if his "affair" were not progressing splendidly? He did not wait for her answer; he laughed and chattered; and he was determined to go in with her. But this Alice had no intention of allowing. Then he demanded, as his reward for not persisting, that she should take them both for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne, in the direction of La Bagatelle. It was to be in the morning, about nine o'clock; then the scent of the trees would be strongest, the song of the birds fullest; and then they would still have the place to themselves. This she promised.

On the following Friday she called for Mary before nine in the morning, and they drove on to pick up Frans Roey.

From a long way off Alice saw him marching up and down on the pavement. His face and bearing filled her with a presentiment of mischief. Mary could not see him until they stopped. But then a flame rushed into her face, kindled by the fire in his. He boarded the carriage like a captured vessel. Alice hastened to attract his attention in order to avoid an immediate outburst.

"How lovely the morning is," she said; "just because the sun is not shining in its full strength! Nothing can be more beautiful than this subdued tone over a scene as full of colour as that towards which we are driving."

But Frans did not hear; he understood nothing but Mary. The white veil thrown back over her red hair, the fresh, half open mouth, deprived him of his senses. Alice remarked that the woods had become more fragrant since the Japanese trees had grown up. Each time these flung a wanton puff in among the sober European wood scents, it was as if foreign birds with foreign screams were flying among the trees. Frans Roey at once affirmed that the native birds were thereby inspired with new song. Never had they sung so gloriously as they were singing that morning.

Alice's fear of an explosion increased. She tried to avoid it by drawing his attention to the contrasts of colour in wood and meadow and distance. The drive out to La Bagatelle is peculiarly rich in these. But Frans was sitting with his back to the horses; he had to turn away from Mary and Alice every time to see what Alice wanted him to look at. This made him impatient, the more so as Mary and he were each time interrupted in their conversation.

"Shall we not rather get out and walk a little?" said he.

But Alice was more afraid of this than anything. What might he not take into his head next?

"Do look about you!" she exclaimed. "Is it not as if the colours here were singing in chorus?"

"Where?" said Frans crossly.

"Goodness! Don't you see all the varieties of green in the wood itself? Just look! And then the green of the meadow against these?"

"I have no desire to see it! Not an atom!" He turned towards the ladies again and laughed. "Would it not really be better to get down?" he insisted again. "It's ever so much pleasanter to walk in the wood than to look at it. The same with the meadows."

"It is forbidden to walk on the grass."

"Confound it! Then let us walk on the road, and look at it all. That is surely better than being cooped up in a carriage."

Mary agreed with him.

"Do you suppose that it was to walk I drove you out here? It was to see that historic house, La Bagatelle, and the wood surrounding it. There is nothing like it anywhere. And then I meant to go as far into the country as possible. We can't do all this if we are to walk."

This appeal kept them quiet for a time. The owner of the carriage must be allowed to decide. But now Mary, too, was in wild spirits. Her eyes, usually thoughtful, shone with happiness. To-day she laughed at all Frans's jokes; she laughed at nothing at all. She was perpetually coveting flowers which she saw; and each time they had to stop, to gather both flowers and leaves. She filled the carriage with them, until Alice at last protested. Then she flung them all out, and insisted on being allowed to get out herself.

They stopped and alighted.

They had long ago passed La Bagatelle. The carriage was ordered to turn and drive slowly back; they followed.

They had not taken many steps before Frans Roey began to turn cart-wheels, that is to say, to throw himself forward side-ways upon his hands, turn in the air, and fall again upon his feet--then to go off again sideways upon his hands, ever onwards, ever faster. Presently he turned and came back in the same way. "That is one of my circus tricks," he said, beaming. "Here is another!" He jumped up where he stood, turned round in the air, and came down again on his feet on the exact spot from which he had jumped--then did the same thing again. "Look. Exactly where I jumped from!" he exclaimed triumphantly, and did it two, three, four, five times more.

They admired. And it was a sight worthy of admiration; for the ease with which the tall, strong man performed the feat made it beautiful. Inspired by their praise, he began to spin round at such a rate that they could not bear to look. Nor was it beautiful. They turned away and screamed. This delighted him tremendously. Annoyed by the fact, Alice called out:

"You are a perfect boy; any one would take you for seventeen!"

"How old are you?" asked Mary.

"Over thirty."

They shouted with laughter.

This they should not have done. This he must punish. Before Alice divined his intention, he seized her round the waist, turned, and was off with her in the most frantic gallop up the road, raising clouds of dust. Stout Alice struggled with all her might and screamed. But this was of no avail; it only delighted him. Her hat and her shawl fell off. Mary ran and picked them up, helpless with laughter; for these ungainly and perfectly useless attempts at resistance were irresistibly comic. At last Frans turned, and they came back again at the same wild pace and stopped where Mary stood--Alice's face distorted, perspiring, and red. Her breathless rage, incapable of utterance, made Mary explode. Frans sang: Hop sa-sa! hop-sa-sa! in front of the angry lady, until she could speak and abuse him. Then he laughed.

"And you--?" said Mary, now turning to Frans. "Has it not tired you at all?"

"Not much. I'm quite prepared to take the same trip with you."

Mary was horrified. She had just given Alice her hat, and was standing holding the shawl and her own hat, which she had taken off. With a cry she threw both from her and set off in the homeward direction, towards the waiting carriage.

Not for an instant had Frans Roey