“You are very cruel, Marchesa.”
“Why?”
“Because you run away from us people who admire and like you. My wife asked me to present her to you. Would you like her to come?”
“Oh, no! She mustn’t disturb herself. I will go to her.”
“Assuredly not. One moment.”
Marchmont went out into the corridor and presented his wife to Laura and to Cæsar.
An animated conversation sprang up among them, interrupted by Laura’s exclamations of delight on passing one or another of the wonderful views along the Riviera.
“You are a Latin, Marchesa, eh?” said Marchmont.
“Altogether. This is our sea. Every time I look at it, it enchants me.”
“You are going to stop at Nice?”