"_Ai_, Debora!" cried a boy, "here's the old man. Pass the plate, pass
the plate!" To his amazement, though he could give no reason for the
feeling, Ferval saw the girl go from group to group, her tambourine
outstretched, begging for coppers. Once she struck an insulting youth
across the face, but when she reached Ferval and met his inquiring look,
she dropped her eyes and did not ask for alms. A red-headed Sibyl, he
thought discontentedly, a street beggar, the daughter of an old ruffian.
And as he walked away rapidly he remembered her glance, in which there
lurked some touch of antique pride and wrath.
II
Rouen lay below him, a violet haze obscuring all but the pinnacles of
its churches. The sinking sun had no longer power to pierce this misty
gulf, at the bottom of which hummed the busy city; but Ferval saw
through rents in the twirling, heat-laden atmosphere the dim shapes of
bridges mirrored by the water beneath him; and once the two islands
apparently swept toward him, a blur of green; while at the end of the
valley, framed by hills, he seemed to discern the odd-looking
Transbordeur spanning the Seine.
Pages:
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378