and this is June. … Are you staying in Paris?"
"Yes, for a week or so longer. I'm with my sister, Countess di Pepoli. And you?"
"I'm off in a few days for Switzerland, for a little climbing."
"That's odd, we are going there, too, but only to the Val d'Iliez, for the summer. Your route will lie quite differently, I imagine. I remember you were bound for the high mountains when I saw you last."
"Yes, but I shall be somewhere near you, as it happens. I'm going to Chamounix, and I have to meet my wife in Montreux in August. … You—forgive me, you're not looking as well as when I saw you. I hope"
He stopped, and Teresa realised the meaning of his glance at her black dress.
"I have been rather ill this last winter—hence Switzerland," she said quickly. "My husband joins me there in the fall."
"Oh, I'm glad! I mean," he said, smiling, "so many things might have happened in three years! I didn't know if you were in mourning."
"Yes—so many things," murmured Teresa, absently. She was tired, unnerved by the heat; she felt the tears again in her eyes, and she stammered:
"I—I am in mourning. Six months ago I lost my baby."
