"Eh?" questioned the count, turning toward his young wife. "What
is it that is magnificent?" and the count bent his eyes in various
directions in quest of the object of her admiration.

"Oh, nothing at all, my dear," replied the countess, a slight flush
momentarily coloring her already pink cheek. "I was but recalling
with admiration those stupendous skyscrapers, as they call them, of
New York," and the fair countess settled herself more comfortably
in her steamer chair, and resumed the magazine which "nothing at
all" had caused her to let fall upon her lap.

Her husband again buried himself in his book, but not without a mild
wonderment that three days out from New York his countess should
suddenly have realized an admiration for the very buildings she
had but recently characterized as horrid.

Presently the count put down his book. "It is very tiresome,
Olga," he said. "I think that I shall hunt up some others who may
be equally bored, and see if we cannot find enough for a game of
cards."

"You are not very gallant, my husband," replied the young woman,
smiling, "but as I am equally bored I can forgive you. Go and play
at your tiresome old cards, then, if you will."

When he had gone she let her eyes wander slyly to the figure of a
tall young man stretched lazily in a chair not far distant.

"MAGNIFIQUE!" she breathed once more.