“Possibly. She is a magnificent woman.”
“Right you are. She is a marvel. She is almost too pretty. She shows no character; she has no air of breeding.” “There doesn’t seem to be any great congeniality between them.”
“No, they don’t get on very well. But come along, pay, let’s go. So many people are coming in here.”
Laura got up, and after her, Cæsar. As she passed, one heard the swish of her silk petticoats. The travellers looked at her with admiration.
“I believe these people envy me,” said Cæsar philosophically.
“It’s quite possible, bambino,” she responded, laughing.
They entered their compartment. The train was running at full speed along the coast. The greenish sea and the cloudy sky stretched away and blotted out the horizon. At Toulon the bad weather continued; a bit beyond, the sun came out, pallid in the fog, circled with a yellowish halo; then the fog dispersed rapidly and a brilliant sun made the snow-covered country shine.
“Oh! How beautiful!” exclaimed Laura.
The dense pure snow had packed down. The grape-vines broke up this white background symmetrically, like flocks of crows settled on the earth; the pines held high their rounds of foliage, and the cypresses, stern and slim, stood out very black against all the whiteness.
On passing Hyères, as the train turned away from the shore, running inland, grim snowy mountains began for some while to be visible, and the sun vanished among the clouds; but when the train came out once more toward the sea, near San Rafael, suddenly,—as if a theatrical effect had been arranged,—the Mediterranean appeared, blue, flooded with sunshine, full of lights and reflections. The sky stretched radiant above the sea, without a cloud, without a shred of vapour.