“I look so bad, eh?” and Cæsar examined himself in one of the car mirrors. “I certainly am absurdly pale.”
“The weather is just as horrible as ever,” she added.
They had left a Paris frozen and dark. During the whole night the cold had been most intense. One hadn’t been able to put a head outside the car; snow and a furious wind had had their own violent way.
“When we reach the Mediterranean, it will change,” Laura had said.
It had not; they were on the edge of the sea and the cold continued intense and the weather dark.
HOW BEAUTIFUL!
The train began its journey again; the houses of Marseilles could be seen through the morning haze; the Mediterranean appeared, greenish, whitish, and fields covered with hoar-frost.
“What horrid weather!” exclaimed Laura, shuddering. “I dislike the cold more and more all the time.”
The dining-car waiter came and filled their cups with café-au-lait. Laura drew off her gloves and took one of the hot cups between her white hands.
“Oh, this is comforting!” she said.