“Pardon me; I spent five months there three years ago.”
“Indeed! And did you think it a horrible place? Was it raining all the time?”
“No; it behaved very well in that respect, and I liked the country very much, and London especially; perhaps it was owing in a measure to all the kindness I received there.”
Pearl wondered who the people were who had shown him so much kindness; good-natured middle-class people, no doubt, who thought it rather fine to have a French officer to entertain.
“The English understand the virtue of hospitality in a charming way,” continued M. Darvallon; “the mere fact of your being a stranger opens every door to you.”
“Whereas in France it shuts them?” said Pearl.
“I am sorry if that is your experience of us, mademoiselle.”
“I don’t say that; I only thought you meant to say so. But it is true; we are fond of foreigners in England.”
“Nothing is more delightful, certainly, than the way in which you make them welcome. I was staying at our embassy—I went over with the Comte X—— as military attaché—but it was merely a kind of nominal headquarters; I spent most of the time in the houses of English people. The Duke of S—— was particularly kind to me. I had known his brother in the Crimea, and he made this a pretext for receiving me as an old friend; so did Lord B——. I spent two days at his place on the Thames. What a little paradise it is! The grounds and the house and the view combine to make it a perfect Eden. Some of the country places of your old aristocracy are the most magnificent residences in the world, I suppose; but they are so home-like, there is such a genial atmosphere in them, that one is not oppressed by the magnificence.”
“I am glad to hear you say so; one so often hears foreigners complain of our morgue and stiffness.”