“Ah, Catrina,” said Paul, “we have broken new ground for you. There was no track from here to Osterno through the forest. I made one this afternoon, so you have no excuse for remaining away, now.”
“Thank you,” answered Catrina, withdrawing her cold hand hurriedly from his friendly grasp.
“Miss Delafield,” went on Paul, “admires our country as much as you do.”
“I was just telling mademoiselle,” said Maggie, speaking French with an honest English accent.
Paul nodded, and left them together.
“Yes,” the countess was saying at the other end of the gloomy room; “yes, we are greatly attached to Thors: Catrina, perhaps, more than I. I have some happy associations, and many sorrowful ones. But then—mon Dieu!—how isolated we are!”
“It is rather far from—anywhere,” acceded Etta, who was not attending, although she appeared to be interested.
“Far! Princess, I often wonder how Paris and Thors can be in the same world! Before our—our troubles we used to live in Paris a portion of the year. At least I did, while my poor husband travelled about. He had a hobby, you know, poor man! Humanity was his hobby. I have always found that men who seek to do good to their fellows are never thanked. Have you noticed that? The human race is not grateful en gros. There is a little gratitude in the individual, but none in the race.”
“None,” answered Etta absently.
“It was so with the Charity League,” went on the countess volubly. She paused and looked round with her feeble eyes.