"No indeed!" I answered; and my eyes filled. The bustle of the fashionable world was all around me, the storms of the political world were shaking the very ground where I stood, the air of our little social world was not as on Lebanon sweet and pure. When would it be again? Papa sat thinking in his easy-chair.
"How do you like Paris, my child?"
"Papa, it does not make much difference, Italy or Paris, so long as I am where you are, and we can have a little time together."
"Your English friend has followed you from Florence."
"Yes, papa. At least he is here."
"And your German friend."
"He is here, papa."
There was a silence. I wondered what papa was thinking of, but
I did not speak, for I saw he was thinking.
"You have never heard from your American friend?"
"No, papa."