“Do you like this country?” he asked presently.
“Bavaria? Immensely.”
“I mean, do you like the Continent—Europe?”
“Yes.”
“What do think about it?”
“I think Europa showed great good taste in getting down from the bull just where she did.”
“Then you like this land?”
“I love it! It hurts me whenever I hear my countrymen malign it.”
They were in the Ludwigsstrasse, and the scene was like a holiday in America. Every one was out after the rain and all faces reflected that exuberant gayety which seems to be born about five o’clock in each continental city. People in carriages, people in cabs, people on horseback, people on bicycles, people walking, people leading dogs, people wheeling babies, people following children, all one laughing, bowing, chattering procession, coming and going ceaselessly between the Feldherrnhalle and the Siegesthor, with the blue Bavarian sky blessing all the pleasure, and the tame doves of Munich under the feet of each and every one.
Von Ibn stopped to watch the brilliant scene; Rosina stood beside him.