Since our time, I doubt if twenty people
have passed that way.'
'That argues ill for people's taste. The place is lovely. Underfoot,
it's quite overgrown with mosses; and the branches interlace overhead.
Where the sun filters through, you get adorable effects of light and
shadow. It's fearfully romantic; perfect for making love in, and that
sort of thing. Oh, if all the women hereabouts hadn't such hawk-like
noses! You see, the Duke of Wellington was here in 1814.--No? He
wasn't? I thought I'd read he was.--Ah, well, he was just over the
border. But my lady of this morning hadn't a hawk-like nose. I can't
quite remember what style of nose she did have, but it wasn't
hawk-like. I say, frankly, as between old friends, have you any notion
who she was?'
'What kind of horse had she?'
'Ah, there!' cried Paul, with a despairing gesture. 'You've touched my
vulnerable point. I never shall have any memory for horses. I think
it was black--no, brown--no, grey--no, green. Oh, what am I saying? I
can't remember. Do--do you make it an essential?'
'She might have been from Bayonne.'
'Who rides from Bayonne? Fancy a Bayonnaise on a horse! They're all
busy in their shops.'
'You forget the military. She may have been the wife of an officer.'
'Oh, horror! Do you really think so? Then she must have been frowsy
and provincial, after all; and I thought her so smart and
distinguished-looking and everything.
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