“How marvellous! How beautiful!” Laura again exclaimed, contemplating the landscape with emotion. “These blessed countries where the sun is!”
“They have no other drawback, than that the men who inhabit them are a trifle vague,” said Cæsar.
“Bah!”
The air had grown milder; on the surface of the sea patterns of silver foam, formed by the beating of the waves, widened themselves out; the sun’s reflection on the restless waters made shining spots and rays, flaming swords that dazzled the eye.
The train seemed to puff joyfully at submerging itself in this bland and voluptuous atmosphere; the palm-trees of Cannes came surging up like a promise of felicity, and the Côte d’Azur began to show its luminous and splendid beauty.
Cæsar, tired of so much light, took a book from his pocket: The Speculator’s Manual of Proudhon, and set to reading it attentively and to marking the passages that struck him as interesting.
THE ENGLISHMAN AND HIS WIFE
Laura, when she was not watching the landscape, was looking at those who came and went in the corridor.
“The Englishman is lying in wait,” Laura observed.
“What Englishman?” asked Cæsar.