The Motor Maid eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 352 pages of information about The Motor Maid.

The Motor Maid eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 352 pages of information about The Motor Maid.
docility.  No, only old fogies would close their hearts to a machine fit for the gods, and pride themselves on being motophobes forever.  We felt ourselves, car and all, to be worthy of this magic way, lined with blossoms that played like rosy children among the strange rocks characteristic of Provence—­rocks which seemed to have boiled up all hot out of the earth, and then to have vied with each other in hardening into most fantastic shapes.  Even we felt ourselves worthy to meet a few troubadours, as we drew near to Aix, where once they held their Courts of Love; and we had talked ourselves into an almost dangerously romantic mood by the time we arrived at the hotel in the Cours Mirabeau.

There, in the wide central Place, sprayed a delicious fountain splashed with gold by the sunlight that filtered through an arbour of great trees; and there, too, was a statue of good King Rene.  Perhaps, if I hadn’t known that Aix-en-Provence was the home of the troubadours, and that its springs had been loved by the Romans before the days of Christianity, I might not have thought it more charming than many another ancient sleepy town of France; but it is impossible to disentangle one’s imagination and sentiment from one’s eyesight; therefore, Aix seemed an exquisite place to me.

Now that I knew how knight-errantry in some of its branches was likely to affect Mr. Dane’s pocket, I resolved that nothing should tempt me to encourage him in the pursuit.  No matter how many flirtatious smiles were shed upon me by enterprising waiters, no matter how many conversations were begun by couriers who took me for rather a superior sample of “young person,” I would bear all, all, without a complaint which might seem like a hint for protection.

When Lady Turnour had forgotten me, in the dazzling light that beat about the thought of luncheon, I almost bustled into the hotel, and asked for the servants’ dining-room.  I knew that there was little hope of eating alone, for several important-looking motor-cars were drawn up before the hotel; but I was hardly prepared for the gay company I found assembled.

Three chauffeurs, a valet, and two maids were lunching, and judging from appearances the meal was far enough advanced to have cemented lifelong friendships.  Wine being as free as the air you breathe, in this country of the grape, naturally the big glass caraffes behind the plates were more than half empty, and the elder of the two elderly maids had a shining pink knob on her nose.

I hadn’t yet taken off my diving-bell (as I’ve named my head covering), and every eye was upon me during the intricate process of removal.  Conversation, which was in French, slackened in the interests of curiosity; and when the new face was exposed to public gaze the three gallant chauffeurs jumped up, as one man, each with the kind intention of placing me in a chair next himself. “Voila une petite tete trop jolie pour etre cachee comme ca!” exclaimed the best looking and boldest of the trio.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
The Motor Maid from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.