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Frederic, Harold, 1856-1898

"The Market-Place"

They made sure that
they could identify the windows of Miss Madden's suite,
and that the curtains were drawn aside--but there was no
other token of occupancy discernible. They had said good-bye
to the two ladies the previous evening, of course--it
lingered in their minds as a rather perfunctory ceremony--but
this had not prevented their hoping for another farewell
glimpse of their friends. No one came to wave a hand
from the balcony, however, and the youngsters looked
somewhat dubiously at each other as the train moved.
Then intuitively they glanced toward their uncle--and
perceived that he had his hat pulled over his eyes,
and was staring with a kind of moody scowl at the lake opposite.
"Fortunately, it is a clear day," said Julia. "We shall
see Mont Blanc."
Her voice seemed to have a hollow and unnatural sound
in her own ears. Neither her uncle nor her brother
answered her.

At breakfast, meanwhile, in the apartment toward which
the young people had turned their farewell gaze in vain,
Miss Madden sipped her coffee thoughtfully while she read
a letter spread upon the table beside her.
"It's as they said," she observed. "You are not allowed
to drive in the mountains with your own horses and carriage.
That seems rather quaint for a model Republic--doesn't it?"
"I daresay they're quite right," Lady Cressage
replied, listlessly.


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