Patty in Paris

"Not quite that," returned Florrie, laughing. "Of course, we English have our prejudices, and other people call us narrow; but I think we shall always be so."

"I suppose you will," said Patty; "but anyway you would have more fun if you enjoyed yourself more."

"It's good of you, Patty, to care whether I enjoy myself or not."

Florrie's tone was so sincere and humble as she said this that Patty began to realise there was a good deal of character under Florrie's indifferent manner.

"Of course I care. I have grown to like you, Florrie, in these few days, and I want to be good friends with you, if you'll let me."

"If you like," said Florrie again, and Patty perceived that the phrase was merely a habit and did not mean the indifference it expressed.

"And I want you to visit me," went on Florrie. "I'm travelling now to Paris with my aunt, who took me to the States for a trip. From Paris I shall soon go back to my country home in England, and I wish you would visit me there—you and Elise both. Oh, Patty, you have no idea how beautiful England is in the springtime. The may blooms thickly along the lanes, till they're masses of pink fragrance; and the sky is the most wonderful blue, and the birds sing, and it is like nothing else in all the world."

The tears came into Florrie's eyes as she spoke, and Patty was amazed that this cold-blooded girl should be so moved at the mere thought of the spring landscape.

"I should dearly love to visit you, Florrie, but I can't promise, of course, for I'm with the Farringtons, and must do as they say."

"Yes, of course; but I do hope you can come. You would love our country place, Patty; it is so large, and so old, and so beautiful."

Florrie said this with no effect of boasting, but merely with a sincere appreciation of her beautiful home. Then as she went on to tell of the animals and pets there, and of the park and woods of the estate, Patty found that the girl could indeed be enthusiastic when she chose.

This made Patty like her all the better, for it proved she had enthusiasm enough when a subject appealed to her.

But when they were joined by the crowd of gay young people begging them to come and play games, Florrie seemed to shut up into herself again, and assumed once more her air of cold indifference.

But if Florrie was lacking in enthusiasm, it was not so with another of Patty's friends.

Ma'amselle Labesse, who had recovered from her indisposition, had taken a violent fancy to Patty and would have liked to monopolise her completely.

Patty was kind to the old lady and did much to entertain her, but she was not willing to give up all her time to her. The old ma'amselle greatly delighted to carry Patty off to her stateroom, there to talk to her or listen to her read aloud. Except for her maid, ma'amselle was alone, and Patty felt sorry for her and was glad to cheer her up. Not that she needed cheering exactly, for she was of a merry and volatile disposition, except when she gave way to exhibitions of temper, which were not infrequent.

One morning she called Patty to her room, and surprised the girl by giving her a present of a handsome and valuable old necklace. It was of curiously wrought gold, and though Patty admired it extremely, she hesitated about accepting such a gift from a comparative stranger.

"But yes," said ma'amselle, "it is for you. I wish to give it to you. I have taken such a fancy to you, you could scarce believe. And I adore to decorate you thus." She clasped the necklace about Patty's throat, with an air that plainly said she would be much offended if the gift were refused. So Patty decided to keep it, at least until she could get an opportunity to ask Mrs. Farrington's advice on the subject.

When she did ask her, Mrs. Farrington told her to keep it by all means. She said she had no doubt the old ma'amselle enjoyed making the gift far more than Patty was pleased to receive it, so Patty kept the trinket, which was really a very fine specimen of the goldsmith's art.

"And, my dear," the old lady went on, the day that she gave Patty the necklace, "you must and shall come to visit me in my chateau. My home is the most beautifull—an old chateau at St. Germain, not far from Paris, and you can come, but often, and stay with me for the long time."

Patty thanked her, but would not promise, as she had made up her mind to accept no invitations that could not include the Farringtons.

But Ma'amselle Labesse did include the Farringtons, and invited the whole party to visit her in the winter.

Mrs. Farrington gave no definite answer, but said she would see about it, and perhaps they would run out for the week-end.

For the first five or six days of their journey the weather was perfect and the ocean calm and level. But one morning they awoke to find it raining, and later the rain developed into a real storm. The wind blew furiously and the boat pitched about in a manner really alarming. The old ma'amselle took to her stateroom, and Mrs. Farrington also was unable to leave hers. But the girls were pleased rather than otherwise. Patty and Elise proved themselves thoroughly good sailors, and were among the few who appeared at the table at luncheon.

After the meal, Bob and Guy Van Ness came up to the girls and asked them if they cared to brave the storm sufficiently to go out on deck. Elise, though not timid, declared that she could see all she wished through the windows; but Patty, always ready for a new experience, expressed her desire to go.

She put on her own little rain-coat and tied a veil over her small cap, but when she presented herself as ready the boys laughed at her preparations.

"That fancy little mackintosh is no good," said Bob; "but you wait a minute, Patty; we'll fix you."

Bob disappeared, and soon returned, bringing from somewhere an oilskin coat and cap of a brilliant yellow color. These enveloped Patty completely, and as the boys were arrayed in similar fashion, they looked like three members of a life-saving corps, or, as Patty said, like the man in the advertisement of cod-liver oil.

Although the yellow oilskins were by no means beautiful, yet Patty's rosy face peeping out from under the queer-shaped, ear-flapped cap was a pretty picture.

Laughing with glee, they stepped out on the deck into the storm. The stepping out was no easy matter, for the wind was blowing a hurricane and the spray was dashing across the decks, while the rain seemed to come from all directions at once.

With the two big boys on either side of her, Patty felt no fear, and as they walked forward toward the bow of the ship she felt well repaid for coming out by the grandeur of the sight. It was impossible to distinguish sea from sky, as both were of the same leaden grey, and the torrents of rain added to the obscurity. The ocean was in a turmoil, frothing and fuming, and the waves rolled over and broke against the ship with angry vehemence. Patty, though not frightened, was awed at the majesty of the elements, and did not in the least mind the rain and spray in her face as she gazed at the scene.

"You're good wood!" exclaimed Guy; "not many girls could stand up against a storm like this."

Patty shook the wet curls out of her eyes as she smiled up at him. "I love it!" she exclaimed, but she could hardly make her voice heard for the roar of the sea and the storm.

Up and down the decks they walked, or rather tried to walk, now battling against the wind, and now being swept along in front of it, until almost exhausted, Patty dropped down on a coil of rope in a comparatively sheltered corner. The boys sat down beside her, and they watched the angry ocean. At times the great waves seemed as if they would engulf the pitching ship, but after each wave the steamer righted herself proudly and prepared to careen again on the next.

After a time Patty declared she'd had enough of it, and also expressed her opinion that oilskins were not such a positive protection against the wet as they were reputed to be.

So indoors they went, warm and glowing from their vigorous exercise, and their appetites sharpened by their rough battle with the weather.

Every day there seemed to be something new to do.

"I've been told," said Patty, "that life on an ocean steamer is monotonous, but I can't find any monotony. We've done something different every day, haven't we, Elise?"

"Yes; and next will be the concert, and that will be best of all. What are you going to sing, Patty?"

"I don't know. I don't want to sing at all, but your mother said I'd better sing once, because they all insist on it so, and I do like to be accommodating."

"I should think you did, Patty; you're never anything but accommodating."

"Oh, pooh! It's no trouble to me to sing. I'd just as lief do it as not; only it seems foolish for me to sing when there are so many older people with better voices to do it."

"Well, sing some simple little ballad, and I don't believe but what the people will like it just as much as the arias and things sung by the more pretentious singers."

So Patty followed Elise's advice, and when the night of the concert came her name was on the programme for one song.

And, as Elise had thought, it pleased the audience quite as well as some of the more elaborate efforts.

Patty wore one of her pretty new dresses, a simple little frock of white chiffon cloth, with touches here and there of light blue velvet. Her only ornament was the necklace that Ma'amselle Labesse had given her, and in her curly golden hair was a single white rose.

Very sweet she looked as she stood on the platform to sing her little song. She had chosen "My Ain Countree" as being likely to please a popular audience, and also not difficult to sing.

Mr. Pauvret accompanied her on his violin, and so effective was his accompaniment and so sweet pretty Patty's singing of the old song, that their performance proved to be the most attractive number on the programme. So prolonged was the applause and so persistent the cry of "Encore!" that Patty felt she really must respond with another song.

So she sang Stevenson's little verses, "In Winter I Get Up at Night," which have been set to such delightful music. Again Mr. Pauvret's accompaniment added to the charm of the song, and Patty returned to her place in the audience, quite embarrassed at the praises heaped upon her.

Elise sang, too, in a quartette of four girls. They had practised together considerably, and sang really well. There were many other musical numbers, interspersed with monologues and recitations, and the programme wound up with a series of tableaux.

Patty was in her element in these, and had helped to arrange them. She took part in some of them herself, and in others she arranged the groups to form effective pictures. An immense gilt picture frame, stretched across with gauze, was at the front of the stage. This was held up on either side by two able-bodied seamen of the ship, in their sailor costume. All of the tableaux were shown as pictures in this frame, and they called forth enthusiastic and appreciative applause.

Old Ma'amselle Labesse had been induced to appear in one of the tableaux, and as she possessed strikingly handsome costumes, she wore one of the prettiest, and made an easily recognisable representation of a painting by Nattier. Altogether the concert was a great success and everybody had a good time. It was expected that they would see land the next day, and so the concert partook of the nature of a farewell function. Everybody was shaking hands and saying good-bye to everybody else, and after many good wishes and good-nights our two tired and sleepy girls went to their stateroom.

CHAPTER IX

PARIS

The next morning the girls spent in packing and getting ready to go ashore. "I'm sure I don't know where all these things came from," said Patty; "but I know I have just about twice as many earthly possessions as I had when I came aboard. I hate to pitch them out of the porthole, but I simply can't get them all in my trunks."

"Nor I," said Elise. "People have been giving us things ever since we started, and we must be greedies, because we haven't given anything away, and now what shall we do with them?"

"Let's give a lot away," said Patty. "We've pretty much read all we want to of this mountain of light literature. Let's give it all to the stewardess; and what do you think, Elise, about giving Yankee Doodle to the captain? He is a blessed old bear, and I hate to look forward to life without him, but I don't see how we can cart him to Paris, unless we carry him in our arms, and that's where I draw the line."

"So do I," declared Elise. "We might ask Lisette to carry him, but I know she wouldn't want to do it. Yes, let's give him to the captain as a souvenir of our trip."

This plan was carried out, and the captain was really delighted at the comical gift. He said he should always keep it as a remembrance of the donors, and he hoped that when they returned to America they would again travel on his ship.

The steamer stopped at Plymouth and then went straight on to Havre. Everybody was in a great state of excitement; passengers were getting off and mails getting on at Plymouth, and plenty of wonderful and interesting things to look at as they sailed along the channel.

Patty felt truly sorry to say good-bye to many of the friends she had made on board. But from others she would not be parted until they reached Paris. The Van Ness party, the old Ma'amselle, Florrie Nash, Bert Chester, and Mr. Pauvret were all going in the special train to Paris, as the Farringtons were.

Patty thought this meant they could all travel together, but to her surprise she found the French trains very different from those on American railroads.

The special boat-train which they were to take left directly from the steamer's dock and was an express direct to Paris without stop, landing them there in less than four hours.

The Farrington party had a whole compartment in this train, and as a compartment only holds six people, they comfortably filled it, using the extra seat for hand luggage and so forth.

Patty thought the appointments more luxurious than our own parlour-cars, for the seats were beautifully upholstered in a pearl-grey material, and everything was lavishly decorated, after the French fashion. All of these compartments opened on to a corridor which ran along the side of the car, and Patty soon discovered that thus she could visit her neighbours in the other compartments.

Both Patty and Elise were greatly excited and interested in watching the French landscapes, and trying to make out the names of the towns through which they rapidly flew. But with the exception of some of the larger towns they could not read the names, and so gave that up for the more interesting occupation of watching the villages and hamlets as they succeeded each other.

Bert Chester came in to visit them, and expressed a hope that he might see them in Paris.

He was to remain there only a week, and then he was to join some of his friends, some young Englishmen, and go for a short motor tour in southern France.

Mr. Farrington said that he expected to take his party motoring along the same route, but did not expect to go at present.

Young Chester was sorry that they could not go together, but said that perhaps when Mr. Farrington was ready he and his friends would come over again for another spin.

Bert Chester was a son of a wealthy English squire, and though distinctly British in his ways, was broad-minded enough to like Americans, and moreover was a young man of innate politeness and affable manners. The elder Farringtons liked him extremely, and cordially invited him to come to see them while in Paris.

"We sha'n't have a house of our own just at first," explained Elise; "we're going to a hotel while father and mother look around and select a house for the winter."

"I'm glad," said Patty, "to go to a hotel first. I've never stayed at a big hotel, and I'm sure it will be delightful for a time."

"You'll like the one you're going to," said Chester. "The Ritz is really the old palace of the Castiglione, an ancient French family, and though it is, of course, somewhat rebuilt, much of the original remains, especially the beautiful old garden with its wonderful trees and fountain. I'll give you a day or two to 'find yourselves,' and then I shall come around to call, and shall expect you to be glad to see me."

"We'll be very glad to see you," said Patty cordially, for she had a sincere liking for the young Englishman.

Then Patty and Elise went with Bert to look in for a little chat with the Van Ness party. Although Patty liked the Van Ness girls in a way, she was rather relieved to find that they were not going to the same hotel.

Patty had an intuitive sense of the fitness of things, and she couldn't help thinking that the Van Ness sisters, though good-hearted and good-natured, were of a type apt to be a trifle too conspicuous in a large hotel. The Farringtons were quiet-mannered folk, and Patty had often noticed and admired the dignified yet pleasant manner which Mr. Farrington invariably showed to officials or to servants.

He never gave orders in a loud voice or dictatorial manner, yet his orders were always carried out obediently and willingly, and everybody showed him the greatest respect and deference. Mr. Van Ness on the other hand was imperious and ostentatious. He was prone to be critical, and often became annoyed at trifles. Patty was rapidly learning that the true character can be very easily discovered among one's travelling companions. There is something about the friction of travel that brings out all that is worst and best in one's disposition.

And so when Patty found that the Van Nesses were going to a different hotel from themselves she was really glad, though she hoped to see them occasionally during their stay in Paris.

The train reached the Gare du Nord at about six o'clock, and when our party went into the rather dimly lighted station Patty thought she had never before seen such pandemonium. Everybody seemed to be in trouble of some sort. Some were running hither and thither, exclaiming and expostulating, but apparently to no avail. Others sat hopelessly and helplessly on their own luggage, seeming to despair of ever getting any further.

The luggage room was an immense place, stone-floored and rather damp. There were several separate counters where passengers were supposed to attend to the checking of their baggage; but though there were plenty of officials and porters about, none of them seemed anxious or even willing to wait upon anybody. Patty saw many people appeal to one man after another in a vain hope of getting their wants attended to. But it seemed to be almost impossible. To those who could not speak French the situation was hopeless indeed. Patty watched one poor lady, who seemed to be travelling alone, and who continually inquired of the stolid and unobliging porters, "Do you speak English?" and invariably received the reply, "Non, madame; non, madame." The lonely little lady seemed to be in despair, and Patty wished she could help her, but she did not know herself what made the difficulty. At last she discovered that it was necessary to get a customs inspector and a porter and a railway official all together in one place and at one time. This done, the rest was easy, at least to the traveller who knew sufficient French to make his wants known.

This Mr. Farrington managed to accomplish after some delay. The official ceremonies then being soon over, and our travellers having repeatedly declared that they were transporting nothing eatable, they were allowed to drive away in cabs. The cabs in Paris are of the low, open pattern, like a victoria, and they looked very strange and informal to Patty, who had never seen any but closed cabs or hansoms. Mr. and Mrs. Farrington rode in the first cab, which was followed by another, containing Patty and Elise, with Lisette, who sat on the small, folding front seat.

Patty held her breath with excitement when she realised that she was in Paris at last.

They drove through the streets, which were not very well lighted, gazing eagerly at the strange sights everywhere about them.

Their hotel was in the Place Vendome, and the drive there from the station was not through the beautiful boulevards, but through some narrow and not particularly clean streets.

But when they rolled into the Rue de la Paix and drove toward the Place Vendome, the girls began to think that Paris was beautiful, after all.

It was rather more than dusk, but not dark, and the great square, with its circumference of colonnaded buildings, and the wonderful column in the centre, was exceedingly impressive, and filled Patty's soul with a rapturous awe.

"Oh, Elise," she cried, grasping her companion's hand; "I never supposed Paris would be like this! I thought it would be bright and gay and festive; but instead of that, it's grand and solemn and awe-inspiring."

"So it is, here," said Elise; "but there is plenty of brightness and gaiety in some parts of the city, I expect. Of course, this is historic ground, and I suppose it was pretty much as it is now in the days when they were building French history. That's Napoleon on top of that statue, though you can't recognise him from here. You know about the column, of course. It's been overthrown and rebuilt three or four times."

"Yes, I remember studying about it in French history. It was torn down at the time of the Commune, and later re-erected from the fragments. But you know when you study those dry facts they don't seem to mean anything; but to be here, really in Paris, looking at that wonderful column, in this dusky light, and the stars just beginning to show—oh, Elise, it's more like fairy tales than history!"

"I love it, too," said Elise; "and I'm so glad to be here with you. Oh, Patty, we are going to have a beautiful time!"

"Well, I rather guess we are!" said Patty, with true Yankee enthusiasm.

Then their cabs drove in at the arched entrance of the Hotel Ritz, and a most important looking personage in blue uniform assisted them to alight. Other attendants in unostentatious livery swung open the glass doors and our party entered. The proprietor, who advanced to meet them, was a courtly, polite Frenchman, in correct evening dress, whose suave and deferential manner was truly typical of his race. He seemed to take a personal interest in his newly arrived guests, and himself conducted them to their apartments.

Patty followed with the rest, feeling almost like pinching herself to see if she were awake or in an enchanted dream. The hotel was particularly beautiful, and the furnishings unlike any she had ever seen before. Carpets, furniture, and decorations were all in the palest tints of lovely colours. Doors and windows and many of the partitioned walls were of glass, in ornate gilt frames, through which one could see fascinating rooms beyond. A few choice pictures hung on the walls, and here and there were French cabinets of curios and rare laces.

The elevator seemed to be entirely of glass, and was furnished with dainty white upholstery and gilded woodwork. Bouquets of fresh flowers were here and there on small tables in the rooms and halls.

The suite of rooms allotted to the Farringtons looked out upon the Place Vendome, and Patty flew to the window to gaze again upon the beautiful scene.

The rooms were daintily furnished with the same exquisite taste that prevailed throughout the house. Lace curtains framed the deep-seated windows, an Empire clock and candelabra graced the carved mantel, and the furniture was rich and abundant.

"I don't think," said Patty, "that I ever saw a more beautiful palace. And I'm so glad I'm here I don't know what to do! Just think of it, Elise, we'll live here in this lovely room for a fortnight anyway!"

"It is lovely," said Elise; "but I expect we'll get tired of hotel life and be glad to have a home of our own."

"Very likely," said Patty, with a little sigh of content; "but I shall be perfectly happy wherever we are."

"I believe you will, Patty," said Elise, laughing; "you love this beautiful place, but if it hadn't been half as pretty, you would have made just as much fuss over it."

"I know it," said Patty, rather apologetically; "but I can't help it, Elise. I seem to be made that way. When I like anything, you know, I enjoy it just as much as I possibly can, and that's all I can do, anyway."