It seemed to her that the day had not
needed Chauvenet's praise.
"I had hoped to see you later at the Wallingford tea!" he continued.
"No teas for me on a day like this! The thought of being indoors is
tragic!"
She wished that he would leave her, for she had ridden out into the
spring sunshine to be alone. He somehow did not appear to advantage in
his riding-coat,--his belongings were too perfect. She had really enjoyed
his talk when they had met here and there abroad; but she was in no mood
for him now; and she wondered what he had lost by the transfer to
America. He ran on airily in French, speaking of the rush of great and
small social affairs that marked the end of the season.
"Poor Franzel is indeed _triste_. He is taking the death of Johann
Wilhelm quite hard. But here in America the death of an emperor seems
less important. A king or a peasant, what does it matter!"
"Better ask the robin in yonder budding chestnut tree, Monsieur. This is
not an hour for hard questions!"
"Ah, you are very cruel! You drive me back to poor, melancholy Franzel,
who is indeed a funeral in himself.
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