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"
Oh
,
well
then
go
later
—
but
some
day
before
we
leave
.
"
"
All
right
,
Mother
.
"
After
lunch
they
were
both
overwhelmed
by
the
sudden
flatness
that
comes
over
American
travellers
in
quiet
foreign
places
.
No
stimuli
worked
upon
them
,
no
voices
called
them
from
without
,
no
fragments
of
their
own
thoughts
came
suddenly
from
the
minds
of
others
,
and
missing
the
clamor
of
Empire
they
felt
that
life
was
not
continuing
here
.
"
Let
’
s
only
stay
three
days
,
Mother
,
"
Rosemary
said
when
they
were
back
in
their
rooms
.
Outside
a
light
wind
blew
the
heat
around
,
straining
it
through
the
trees
and
sending
little
hot
gusts
through
the
shutters
.
"
How
about
the
man
you
fell
in
love
with
on
the
beach
?
"
"
I
don
’
t
love
anybody
but
you
,
Mother
,
darling
.
"
Rosemary
stopped
in
the
lobby
and
spoke
to
Gausse
père
about
trains
.
The
concierge
,
lounging
in
light
-
brown
khaki
by
the
desk
,
stared
at
her
rigidly
,
then
suddenly
remembered
the
manners
of
his
métier
.
She
took
the
bus
and
rode
with
a
pair
of
obsequious
waiters
to
the
station
,
embarrassed
by
their
deferential
silence
,
wanting
to
urge
them
:
"
Go
on
,
talk
,
enjoy
yourselves
.
It
doesn
’
t
bother
me
.
"
The
first
-
class
compartment
was
stifling
;
the
vivid
advertising
cards
of
the
railroad
companies
—
The
Pont
du
Gard
at
Arles
,
the
Amphitheatre
at
Orange
,
winter
sports
at
Chamonix
—
were
fresher
than
the
long
motionless
sea
outside
.
Unlike
American
trains
that
were
absorbed
in
an
intense
destiny
of
their
own
,
and
scornful
of
people
on
another
world
less
swift
and
breathless
,
this
train
was
part
of
the
country
through
which
it
passed
.
Its
breath
stirred
the
dust
from
the
palm
leaves
,
the
cinders
mingled
with
the
dry
dung
in
the
gardens
.
Rosemary
was
sure
she
could
lean
from
the
window
and
pull
flowers
with
her
hand
.
A
dozen
cabbies
slept
in
their
hacks
outside
the
Cannes
station
.
Over
on
the
promenade
the
Casino
,
the
smart
shops
,
and
the
great
hotels
turned
blank
iron
masks
to
the
summer
sea
.
