in her mind and quickening her sympathy for a man of whom she knew
so little; and she touched her horse impatiently with the crop and rode
into the park at a gait that roused the groom to attention.

At a bend of the road Chauvenet and Franzel, the attaché, swung into
view, mounted, and as they met, Chauvenet turned his horse and rode
beside her.

"Ah, these American airs! This spring! Is it not good to be alive, Miss
Claiborne?"

"It is all of that!" she replied. It seemed to her that the day had not
needed Chauvenet's praise.

"I had hoped to see you later at the Wallingford tea!" he continued.

"No teas for me on a day like this! The thought of being indoors is
tragic!"

She wished that he would leave her, for she had ridden out into the
spring sunshine to be alone. He somehow did not appear to advantage in
his riding-coat,--his belongings were too perfect. She had really enjoyed
his talk when they had met here and there abroad; but she was in no mood
for him now; and she wondered what he had lost by the transfer to
America. He ran on airily in French, speaking of the rush of great and
small social affairs that marked the end of the season.

"Poor Franzel is indeed _triste_. He is taking the death of Johann
Wilhelm quite hard. But here in America the death of an emperor seems
less important. A king or a peasant, what does it matter!"