“I own that column,” she remarked to her father, as they looked out the window at the great shaft with its spiral decorations.
“Indeed!” said Mr. Fairfield; “given to you by the French people, as a token of regard and esteem?”
“Not exactly that,” said Patty. “I own it by right of adoption, or rather, appropriation. All the things I specially like, and that are too big to carry home, I own that way.”
“A fine plan,” commented her father. “And it has the advantage of being a cheap one too. But you must remember this Vendôme column especially, for you’ll see its twin in Rome.”
“Another,—just like it?”
“Not just like it, but similar. The one in Rome is Trajan’s Column, and is of marble. But this one, of masonry, covered with plates of bronze, was constructed in imitation of the Roman one. This, however, is nearly twice as high.”
“Oh, pooh, then I shan’t care for such a little sawed-off thing at all.”
“Wait till you see it,” said her father, laughing. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”
“And is Trajan on top of it, as Napoleon is on this?”