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"It's not altogether a bad sort of view is it?" some one said, in English. The voice was a woman's. It was clear and smooth; it was crisp-cut, distinguished. Peter glanced about him. On the opposite bank of the Aco, in the grounds of Ventirose, five or six yards away, a lady was standing, looking at him, smiling. Peter's eyes met hers, took in her face.... And suddenly his heart gave a jump.
"You do not think it altogether bad I hope?" she questioned, in her crisp-cut voice, raising her eyebrows slightly, with a droll little assumption of solicitude. Peter's wits were in confusion; but he must answer her. An automatic second-self, summoned by the emergency, answered for him. "I think one might safely call it altogether good." "Oh ?" she exclaimed.
The Duchessa's voice, clear and cool and crisp-cut, sounded perpetually in his ears; the words she had spoken, the arguments she had urged, repeated and repeated themselves, danced round and round, in his memory. "Ought I to have told her then and there? Shall I go to her and tell her to-morrow?" He tried to think; but he could not think.
Already "the minute grey lichens, plate o'er plate," were "softening down the crisp-cut name and date"; and the winds of winter and of summer blew over a little mound that had made itself at home in the still city of the dead. Green was the turf above Fifi, sweet the peacefulness of her little churchyard.
Though an outsider would not have perceived it, the work was as crisp-cut and exact in its methods as the work in a counting-house. One of the cow-boys, in hot pursuit of a fractious heifer, encountered a gopher-hole, and horse and rider were down in a heap. In a second a dozen helping hands were dragging him from under the horse. He limped painfully, but stooped to examine his horse.
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