- end_line
- 15513
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.924Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 15434
- text
- I.
"Come, Isabel, come, Lucy; we have not had a single walk together yet.
It is cold, but clear; and once out of the city, we shall find it sunny.
Come: get ready now, and away for a stroll down to the wharf, and then
for some of the steamers on the bay. No doubt, Lucy, you will find in
the bay scenery some hints for that secret sketch you are so busily
occupied with--ere real living sitters do come--and which you so
devotedly work at, all alone and behind closed doors."
Upon this, Lucy's original look of pale-rippling pleasantness and
surprise--evoked by Pierre's unforeseen proposition to give himself some
relaxation--changed into one of infinite, mute, but unrenderable
meaning, while her swimming eyes gently, yet all-bewildered, fell to the
floor.
"It is finished, then," cried Isabel,--not unmindful of this by-scene,
and passionately stepping forward so as to intercept Pierre's momentary
rapt glance at the agitated Lucy,--"That vile book, it is
finished!--Thank Heaven!"
"Not so," said Pierre; and, displacing all disguisements, a hectic
unsummoned expression suddenly came to his face;--"but ere that vile
book be finished, I must get on some other element than earth. I have
sat on earth's saddle till I am weary; I must now vault over to the
other saddle awhile. Oh, seems to me, there should be two ceaseless
steeds for a bold man to ride,--the Land and the Sea; and like
circus-men we should never dismount, but only be steadied and rested by
leaping from one to the other, while still, side by side, they both race
round the sun. I have been on the Land steed so long, oh I am dizzy!"
"Thou wilt never listen to me, Pierre," said Lucy lowly; "there is no
need of this incessant straining. See, Isabel and I have both offered to
be thy amanuenses;--not in mere copying, but in the original writing; I
am sure that would greatly assist thee."
"Impossible! I fight a duel in which all seconds are forbid."
"Ah Pierre! Pierre!" cried Lucy, dropping the shawl in her hand, and
gazing at him with unspeakable longings of some unfathomable emotion.
Namelessly glancing at Lucy, Isabel slid near to him, seized his hand
and spoke.
"I would go blind for thee, Pierre; here, take out these eyes, and use
them for glasses." So saying, she looked with a strange momentary
haughtiness and defiance at Lucy.
A general half involuntary movement was now made, as if they were about
to depart.
"Ye are ready; go ye before"--said Lucy meekly; "I will follow."
"Nay, one on each arm"--said Pierre--"come!"
As they passed through the low arched vestibule into the street, a
cheek-burnt, gamesome sailor passing, exclaimed--"Steer small, my lad;
'tis a narrow strait thou art in!"
"What says he?"--said Lucy gently. "Yes, it is a narrow strait of a
street indeed."
But Pierre felt a sudden tremble transferred to him from Isabel, who
whispered something inarticulate in his ear.
Gaining one of the thoroughfares, they drew near to a conspicuous
placard over a door, announcing that above stairs was a gallery of
paintings, recently imported from Europe, and now on free exhibition
preparatory to their sale by auction. Though this encounter had been
entirely unforeseen by Pierre, yet yielding to the sudden impulse, he at
once proposed their visiting the pictures. The girls assented, and they
ascended the stairs.
In the anteroom, a catalogue was put into his hand. He paused to give
one hurried, comprehensive glance at it. Among long columns of such
names as Rubens, Raphael, Angelo, Domenichino, Da Vinci, all shamelessly
prefaced with the words "undoubted," or "testified," Pierre met the
following brief line:--"_No. 99. A stranger's head, by an unknown
hand._"
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