170
The Ypres Times.
Why are places far away so wonderful
Philipp smOed at her he felt he had not been mistaken.
Why, mademoiselle, that is the beauty of the unknown. That is life every
thing is like that. Those towers, do I not know, do you not know, that they look far
more beautiful from here, than if we were really there. If I were now in Devonshire, I
would sigh to be here in Belgium that is because I have a happy mind. I forget every
thing that's bad, and only remember what is pleasant. Perhaps," he added, I am talking
rather badly. My mind thinks so quickly sometimes, you know, that I cannot say all I
want to say."
Oh do go on, Monsieur
Their eyes met.
Oh What was I saying
Tell me about your work," said Cecile. I love, I would love to to do beautiful
things. But my uncle is strict. Oh, so severe I am grown up, but would you believe
that he would be very, very angry if he knew I was here. I think," she put her head on one
side, he wants me to become a nun."
Great heavens What a terrible crime if he succeeded, mademoiselle."
Do you think so My uncle wouldn't. He doesn't approve of beautiful things, or
music, or books, except very old one$. Nohe would never become an artist."
My dear young lady, you pardon me, I hope. I am young, too, and I trust my advice
is not necessary, and that your uncle, who may be a very estimable person, has not forced
his ideas on you. By all means worship the orthodox. But do not forget that one lives
to worship other things as well. The beautiful things, the pleasant things, the glorious
things of life. Some people can see nothing but misery. Poor, poor souls Some can
see nothing beyond the four walls of their cottage nothing in a sunset such as this, but
clouds coloured by a revolving incandescent mass. That's the sun. Life is what we make
it, as someone far cleverer than I discovered, thousands of years ago. Supposing that I
told you that over there, behind that inverted Bay of Naples in the sky, is a land where
all things come true, would you believe it
Yes."
You know there isn't, really
She nodded.
Mademoiselle, I pronounce you an artist
She had turned to look towards the setting sun. Her eyes ever so slightly puckered,
and her head half-turned. Philipp was staring at her, his thin lips apart. She seemed
even more charming than when he had first seen her. The sun lit up her hair, outlined
her graceful neck, the curve of her shoulders. Her dress, a plain cheap one, lay in folds
over her ankles, for she was sitting down with her two arms outstretched.
I must go," she said quietly, rising to her feet.
Oh, not yet, please. May I come with you
No, but thank you so much. It is not oftenit is never that I have anyone to talk
with me like this. Goodnight."
Goodnight, mademoiselle."
pr That night was a stormy one, both within and without the little cottage. An early-
summer gale had been heralded by the glorious sunsetand the wind, driven straight
from the sea, across the flat country, whistled and eddied about the cottage. It banged the
shutters, rattled the windows, and altogether made rest impossible.
But Philipp could not have slept in any case. He was suffering the penalties of an
artistic temperamentsupreme happiness and gloomy despair in rapid alternation.
His workwhat would become of it
And then came what Philipp ingenuously thought was a great inspiration. He would
paint her he would ask her to be his model. She would become famous, he would become
