"It is a little cold; but it is very bright," said Della Rocca, in some surprise, for the day, indeed, was magnificent and seasonable. "I was coming in the hope that I might be admitted, though I know it is too early, and not your day, and everything that it ought not to be. But I was so unfortunate last night; you were so monopolised———"
She deigned to smile a little, but she continued to move to her brougham.
"Your climate is the very Harpagon of climates. I have not seen one warm day yet. I am thinking of returning to Paris."
He grew very pale.
"Is not that very sudden?" he asked her; there was a great change in his voice.
"Oh, no; I have my house there, as you know, and Monsieur Odissôt is painting the ball-room in frescoes. I have quite a new idea for my drawing-rooms, too; after all, furnishing is one of the fine arts; do you like that young Odissôt's talent? His drawing is perfection; he was a pupil of Hippolyte Flandrin. Good morning."
