On The Eve of Spring

A Story by Alice Vernon

The smell of Spring was in the night. It had rained that afternoon; yet the deluge had been short and not unpleasant. Winter and the freezing rains were now of the past. The street lights shone as halos through the shiny wetbranched trees of the Boulevard Raspail. They wore street lights of the last century the hiss of the gas mingled with the soft creaking sound of the breeze as it played among the barren branches.

The girl stood beneath the trees, her duffle coat open to the cool night air. She breathed it in ecstatically, sensing the promise of Spring. It was over the long winter night of Paris was over. She was alone in the night but Spring was hidden in the darkness, and she felt the first stirrings of a rebirth in the heart of the sleeping city.

The time for solitude was passing. The boulevard was silent. But from afar came sound of great revelry the cafe crowds of Montparnasse had come out from winter hibernation to welcome the Spring. She walked slowly up the Rue Vavin. The neon-lighted cafes burst into view and the night became as day. The Select cafe was even nore crowded than usual full of those who might one Cay be renowned in the world of arts. Some were true artists; however, many were simply avid readers of Heningway almost as pilgrims they came to that spot where their idol had sat writing day up on day.

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The girl Vicky stood outside watching those people. How intense appeared their lives, seen through the panes of the glass-enclosed terracel Conversing seriously or burstinĮ with gaiety, their rather wild gesticulations and intense expressions conveyed a feeling of the importance of each individual's thoughts. They were youth, possessors of the universe in Paris on the eve of Springtime.

Vicky entered the cafe and joined a group of her friends who were seated in the corner of the terrace. They were

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