The Story of a Summer | Page 5

almost divine expression that plays about the mouth, are
the same in each.
An engraving from a picture by Paul Delaroche, the Archangel
Gabriel--the "patron," in Catholic parlance, of our little
Gabrielle--hangs between the windows, and over the comfortable sofa
is a copy of Liotard's celebrated pastel "la belle Chocolatière" in the
Dresden Gallery. This copy Aunt Mary bought in that city when there
some years ago, and it is considered wonderfully fine. Very pretty and
coquettish she looks in her picturesque Vienna dress, with the small,
neatly-fitting cap, ample apron, and tiny Louis Quinze shoes. In her
case
"My face is my fortune,"
was exemplified, and so pretty and modest is her demeanor that it is no
wonder that Count Dietrichstein, haughty nobleman though he was,
married her. She is very different, however, from the chocolate vendors
whom I have seen in the streets of Paris. I don't think a nobleman
would ever raise one of them from their original station, for they are as
a rule past fifty, and ugly and withered as only a Frenchwoman of that
age can be.
Breakfast is followed by a turn upon the piazza, a little stroll to the
spring, near which delicious wild strawberries nestle in a background of
sweet clover, bright buttercups, and field daisies, or a game of croquet
under the grand old oak-trees
"After the sun has dried the dew."
Then we separate, each to our own room, and our different occupations.
[Illustration: The Spring.]
Ida is very busy now, for she is preparing a volume for publication in
the fall--her dear father's manuscript lectures and letters.
Gabrielle throws herself upon a sofa, and lies there motionless,

absorbed in the fascinating pages of some favorite book; indeed, she is
so quiet that in my periodical fits of tidiness I often seize a print or
bombazine frock, thrown, as I suppose, carelessly upon the bed or sofa,
and only by its weight do I discover that it is animated. Last year,
Gabrielle's favorite site for reading was in the dear old apple-tree close
beside the house; but since she has attained the dignity of sixteen and
train dresses, she has abjured the apple-tree.
Marguerite is translating a volume from the German, _Musikalische
Märchen_, and I divide my time between the piano and occasional
newspaper articles.
But it is already one o'clock and dinner hour. The afternoon passes
much like the morning. We have letters to write, and much reading
aloud. I have two books in progress--Plato's "Dialogues," and Madame
de Stäel's incomparable "Germany:" the latter I read aloud while in
Munich, but it is a work that cannot be too often studied.
At half-past six we dress and go down to the postoffice (about a
hundred yards distant) for the evening mail. Half an hour later we sup,
and then follows, as L. E. L. would say, "a struggle and a sacrifice."
What could be more delicious than a game of croquet, or a drive in the
cool twilight? But Chappaqua, lovely though it is, possesses a malaria
that is dangerous after sunset, they say, and much as I love to drive
when Nature is bathed in the last ruddy flush of day, and during the soft
gray hour that succeeds it, I must heed the prediction of chills to all
who indulge.
The evening is always devoted to music. Both Ida and Gabrielle are
very fond of the piano, and Ida is rapidly becoming quite proficient in
the divine art. She commenced the study of music when a little child,
under an excellent teacher, and also took lessons while in
boarding-school; but one studies the piano under difficulties while in
the routine of a pensionnat, for the hour devoted to it must be taken
from one's recreation time, or from some other lessons. Our friends will
remember, too, that dear Ida was taken out of school while yet very
young, to become the devoted nurse that she has since shown herself to
her mother, and from the time she left the Sacré Coeur until this spring

she has never opened the piano. Now, however, she practises regularly
and conscientiously, and brings to her music all the enthusiasm of her
loving nature, and the intelligence of her superior mind; consequently,
when her fingers are well trained, I shall expect to see her a thoughtful
and brilliant pianist.
Gabrielle is still in the tedious preliminary steps, for Geometry and
Latin, rather than the Rhythme des Doigts and the _Ecole de la
Velocité_, have hitherto engaged her attention; but time will show.
CHAPTER III.
An Unexpected Visit--Morning Drives--Gabrielle's Ponies--A
Repulsive Object--A Visitor--The King of Sweden's Soup--Advantages
of a Royal Kitchen--Startling Experience--Ida's Letters--Strange
Contents--A Lucky Stone--Bequest for a Melodeon--Offers of
Marriage--Arrival of a Suitor--Reasons why he should marry Ida
Greeley--He proves a Lunatic--He is