"
His companion nodded, and his dark eyes rested for a moment upon the
other's face. Guy Poynton was idly watching the reapers at work in the
golden valley below, and he did not catch his friend's expression.
"You are very young, _mon cher ami_," he said. "As one grows older one
demands change. Change always of scene and occupation. Now I, too, am
most hideously bored here, although it is my home. For me to live is
only possible in Paris--Paris, the beautiful."
Guy looked away from the fields. He resented a little his friend's air
of superiority.
"There's only a year's difference in our ages!" he remarked.
Henri de Bergillac smiled--this time more expressively than ever, and
held out his hands.
"I speak of experience, not years," he said. "You have lived for twenty
years in a very delightful spot no doubt, but away from everything which
makes life endurable, possible even, for the child of the cities. I have
lived for twenty-one years mostly in Paris. Ah, the difference!"
Guy shrugged his shoulders, and leaned back in his chair.
"Well," he said briefly, "tastes differ. I've seen quite all I want to
of Paris for the rest of my life.
Pages:
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228