The Story of a Summer | Page 5

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 M?rchen_, 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 St?el'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 Sacr�� 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 Velocit��_, 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 taken before a Magistrate--He is lodged in the County Jail.
June 5.
As unexpected visit yesterday from Mr. O'Dwyer, a member of _The Tribune_ staff, and for several years dear uncle's private secretary.
Mamma had invited Mr. O'Dwyer to come out and pass a quiet day with us, and had appointed Wednesday for the visit. Desirous of a little excitement, and already somewhat weary of our nun-like simplicity of toilette, we decided to do honor to our guest by dressing our hair quite elaborately, and attiring ourselves, despite the heat, in our best bombazines with their weight of crape. We were assembled in the dining-room after our early dinner, discussing, in our plain print wrappers and Marguerite braids, our plans for the morrow, when Minna announced:
"A visit, Madame; a gentleman."
"Probably a neighbor upon business," said mamma to us; "show him in