Читать книгу The Amazing City онлайн

29 страница из 62

The market!... We holiday-keepers in Moret-sur-Loing have been looking forward to it, imagining it, scanning the spot where it is held, recalling other French market-places, ever since we first bowed before the amiable patron and patronne of our hotel. Our immediate inquiry was when is the market. “Tell us,” we cried, “when we, like the villagers, may go forth in our newest clothes, in high spirits, as though to some fine ceremony, to view fruits and vegetables, gigots and rôtis if we like, stalls of chiffons and trinkets, patent medicines, soaps, scents and——”

“A week hence, mon pauvre Monsieur,” interrupted the patronne. “The market takes place on Tuesdays only: as it is Tuesday night, you have just missed it.”

“Then,” we replied, “the week will be empty, sombre; the week will be a year, a century; but for you, Madame, and your admirable hotel, the week would be intolerable.” And the patronne bowed and smiled; we bowed and smiled, “comme dans le monde,” in fact, “en mondains.” Never was there sweeter smiling, better bowing, in Moret....