I turned away rather bewildered and for an hour or two watched Bee and
Mrs. Jimmie being presented to those who called to pay their respects to
our hostess. They were of all descriptions and fascinating to a degree.
Finally the duchesse came up to me bringing a lady whom she introduced
as the Countess Y.

"She is a compatriot of yours, mademoiselle."

It so happened that Bee and Mrs. Jimmie were standing near me and
overheard.

"Ah, you are an American," I said.

"Well," said the countess, moving her shoulders a little uneasily, "I am
an American, but my husband does not like to have me admit it."

It was a small thing. She had a right to deny her nationality if she
liked, but in some way it shocked the three of us alike and we moved
forward as if pulled by one string.

"I think we must be going," said Bee, haughtily.

Jimmie's jaw was so set as we left the house of the countess, and Bee
and Mrs. Jimmie looked so disturbed that I suggested that we drive down
to the Louvre and take one last look at our treasures. Mine are the
Venus de Milo and the Victory, and Jimmie's is the colossal statue of
the river Tiber. Jimmie loves that old giant, Father Tiber, lying there
with the horn of plenty and dear little Romulus and Remus with their
foster mother under his right hand. Jimmie says the _toes_ of the giant