But how about the avenue and my old home? I hastened back to the Rue de
la Pompe with the quick step of aroused anxiety. The avenue was
gone--blocked within a dozen yards of the gate by a huge brick building
covered with newly-painted trellis-work! My old house was no more, but
in its place a much larger and smarter edifice of sculptured stone. The
old gate at least had not disappeared, nor the porter's lodge; and I
feasted my sorrowful eyes on these poor remains, that looked snubbed
and shabby and out of place in the midst of all this new splendor.
[Illustration]
Presently a smart concierge, with a beautiful pink ribboned cap, came
out and stared at me for a while, and inquired if monsieur
desired anything.
I could not speak.
"Est-ce que monsieur est indispose? Cette chaleur! Monsieur ne parle pas
le Francais, peut-etre?"
When I found my tongue I explained to her that I had once lived there in
a modest house overlooking the street, but which had been replaced by
this much more palatial abode.
"O, oui, monsieur--on a balaye tout ca!" she replied.
"Balaye!" What an expression for _me_ to hear!
And she explained how the changes had taken place, and how valuable the
property had become.
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