After purifying himself of his
sea-stains, he left his hotel and walked up the Fifth Avenue with all
a newly-landed voyager's enjoyment of terrestrial locomotion. It was a
charming autumn day; there was a golden haze in the air; he supposed
it was the Indian summer. The broad sidewalk of the Fifth Avenue was
scattered over with dry leaves--crimson and orange and amber. He tossed
them with his stick as he passed; they rustled and murmured with the
motion, and it reminded him of the way he used to kick them in front of
him over these same pavements in his riotous infancy. It was a pleasure,
after many wanderings, to find himself in his native land again,
and Bernard Longueville, as he went, paid his compliments to his
mother-city. The brightness and gayety of the place seemed a greeting to
a returning son, and he felt a throb of affection for the freshest,
the youngest, the easiest and most good-natured of great capitals. On
presenting himself at Gordon's door, Bernard was told that the master of
the house was not at home; he went in, however, to see the mistress.
She was in her drawing-room, alone; she had on her bonnet, as if she had
been going out. She gave him a joyous, demonstrative little welcome; she
was evidently very glad to see him.
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