He glanced at Lewis's puzzled face.

"They mean nothing to you?" he asked.

Lewis shook his head.

"So you're not quite educated, after all," said Leighton.

They descended almost at a run to the gardens behind the Schloss. As
they reached them a long string of carriages drove up from the town.
They were full of tourists, many of whom wore the enameled flag of the
United States in their buttonholes. Some of the women carried little
red, white, and blue silk flags.

Lewis saw his father wince.

"Dad," he asked, "are they Americans?"

"Yes, boy," said Leighton. "Do you remember what I told you about the
evanescent spirit in art?"

Lewis nodded.

"Well," said Leighton, "a beloved flag has an evanescent spirit, too.
One shouldn't finger carelessly the image one would adore. That's why I
winced just now. Collectively, we Americans have never lowered the Stars
and Stripes, but individually we do it pretty often." Then he threw up
his head and smiled. "After all, there's a bright side even to blatant
patriotism. A nation can put up with every form of devotion so long as
it gets it from all."