How Mary does know her geography!
"And beautiful lakes," I continue. "And the roads are good for tramping, and the hotels cheap. Anyway, the ones the students go to. I had come to Lucerne from Zurich—"
"Noted for its silks and university where women can go," Mary broke in again.
Bless me, what's the use of going to Europe anyway, if you learn everything about everywhere in the grades?
"And had gone straight to the Mühlenbrücke," I go on,—"that's the old bridge all covered with a roof that crosses the Reuss only a few rods from where it flows out of the lake; the lake of Lucerne, you know."
"Of course," said Mary.
"For it is on the ceiling of that bridge," I persist, "that these curious old Dance of Death pictures are painted, and I had heard a great deal about them. They show how everybody is dancing through life to his grave. Not very pleasant pictures, Mary."
"Very unpleasant, I should think," says Mary, positively. "I hope you didn't look at them long."
"No, because, for one reason, it was getting too dark to see them. The sun had set behind the Gutsch—that's a pretty hill just west of Lucerne—and the electric lights were already flashing along the lake-shore promenade. You know what a wonderfully beautiful lake Lucerne is, of course, Mary?"