Bildungsromans; France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Villages -- France -- Fiction
We had now come in sight of the hotel, with its lights, so hostile that
first evening, on our arrival, now protecting and kind, speaking to us
of home. And when the carriage drew up outside the door, the porter, the
pages, the lift-boy, attentive, clumsy, vaguely uneasy at our lateness,
were numbered, now that they had grown familiar, among those beings who
change so many times in the course of our life, as we ourself change,
but by whom, when they are for the time being the mirror of our habits,
we find something attractive in the feeling that we are being faithfully
reflected and in a friendly spirit. We prefer them to friends whom we
have not seen for some time, for they contain more of what we actually
are. Only the outside page, exposed to the sun all day, had been taken
indoors for protection from the cold night air and swaddled in thick
woollen garments which, combined with the orange effulgence of his locks
and the curiously red bloom of his cheeks, made one, seeing him there
through the glass front of the hall, think of a hot-house plant muffled
up for protection from the frost. We got out of the carriage, with the
help of a great many more servants than were required, but they were
conscious of the importance of the scene and each felt obliged to take
some part in it. I was always very hungry. And so, often, so as not to
keep dinner waiting, I would not go upstairs first to the room which had
succeeded in becoming so really mine that to catch sight of its long
violet curtains and low bookcases was to find myself alone again with
that self of which things, like people, gave me a reflected image; but
we would all wait together in the hall until the head waiter came to
tell us that our dinner was ready. And this gave us another opportunity
of listening to Mme. de Villeparisis.
"But you must be tired of us by now," protested my grandmother.
"Not at all! Why, I am delighted, what could be nicer?" replied her
friend with a winning smile, drawing out, almost intoning her words in a
way that contrasted markedly with her customary simplicity of speech.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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