CHAPTER XXXVIII.
COUNT L'ALIENADO.
"Here is the substitute I promised you, Rosalie. Miss March—Count L'Alienado."
There was a vacant seat in the barouche that stood before the Marches' villa. It had been destined for Tristram, but even behind the black glasses he wore the August sunshine dazzled his eyes, so he was compelled at the last moment to excuse himself.
"Mme. Violet—his lordship, the Earl of Marmouth."
Count L'Alienado was thus informally presented to his other two riding companions. There was just a suggestion of Spanish reserve in his obeisance, and he bowed a graceful adieu to Tristram before mounting to his seat.
It was curious that Tristram should have been the first to break the count's incognito. He had arrived at Lenox a few days before, attended by a single valet, and registered at the hotel as M. L. L'Alienado, Valencia. Though not imposing in stature, he exhibited a head of rare distinction—the black beard trimmed to an exquisite point at the chin and the curled mustaches setting off a pair of glowing eyes which riveted the beholder from the moment he met their gaze.
As the artist spoke Spanish, they had become friends in an afternoon.
"We have flattered ourselves that the coaching party is something purely American," said Rosalie, who sat beside him, to the stranger.
"I am glad of it for the color. That is an element I have observed to be generally a little lacking in your life."