“In that case,” said Mrs. Medallion, “we could have enlightened him.”
Head in air, she turned to survey the prospect.
“Isn’t it enchanting?” said Miss Woolly, gazing over her shoulder.
“No,” said Mrs. Medallion. “It isn’t. And I wish you wouldn’t exaggerate. My father detested exaggeration. He said it was subversive of conversational dignity.”
“Well, it’s very restful, any way. Look at those sheep.”
“I refuse,” said Mrs. Medallion. “We’ve passed four flocks on the road since we left Pau, and I’m sick and tired of sheep. What is abundantly clear is that France is a very rich land. Why doesn’t she pay her debts?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Miss Woolly.
“I’ll tell you,” said Mrs. Medallion. “Because she and her creditors are friends. You can’t combine friendship with business. It’s an inviolable rule. Pull the check-string.”
The landaulette proceeded silently and at a sober pace.
Presently the road became a curling shelf, with, on the left, first, a miniature wall, and then a ten-foot drop into gay meadows. On the right, a rough and tumble of rock, with rags and tatters of greensward interspersed, climbed to the mountains. Except for an open car, drawn up by the miniature wall, and an approaching waggon, the road was empty.