knew it!—If it’s not mendiants, it’s Chateaubriand garni.”
“Don’t forget the Nuits St. Georges,” said Starwick with his bubbling laugh, “that’s still to come.”
“When he gets through,” she said, “there won’t be a steak or raisin left in France.”
And she looked at Eugene for a moment, her face of noble and tender beauty transfigured by its radiant smile. But almost immediately, she dropped her head again in its customary expression that was heavy and almost sullen, and that suggested something dumb, furious, and silent locked up in her, for which she could find no release.
He looked at her for a moment with scowling, half-resentful eyes, and all of a sudden, flesh, blood, and brain, and heart, and spirit, his life went numb with love for her.
“And now, my children,” Elinor was saying gaily, as she looked at the menu—“what kind of salad is it going—”she looked up swiftly and caught Starwick’s eye, and instantly their gaze turned upon their two companions. The young woman was still staring down with her sullen, dark, and dumbly silent look, and the boy was devouring her with a look from which the world was lost, and which had no place in it for time or memory.
Dark Helen in my heart for ever burning.
“L’écrevisse,” Eugene said, staring at the menu. “What does that mean, Elinor?”
“Well, darling, I’ll tell you,” she said with a grave light gaiety of tone. “An écrevisse is a kind of crayfish they have over here—a delicious little crab—but much, much better than anything we have.”
“Then the name of the place really means The Crab?” he asked.
“Stop him!” she shrieked faintly. “You barbarian, you!” she went on with mild reproach. “It’s not at all the same.”
“It’s really not, you know,” said Starwick, turning to him seriously. “The whole quality of the thing is different. It really is…. Isn’t it astonishing,” he went on with an air of quiet frankness, “the genius they have for names? I mean, even in the simplest words they manage to get the whole spirit of the race. I mean, this square here, even,” he gestured briefly, “La Place des Martyrs. The whole thing’s there. It’s really quite incredible, when you think of it,” he said somewhat mysteriously. “It really is.”
“Quite!” said Elinor. “And, oh, my children, if it were only spring and I
